To The Sticking Place
by Zephyras
Summary: The end justifies the means. Failure is not an option. There is always a choice, except when there isn't. These are the phrases Ianto Jones lives by and he refuses to allow anyone, even Captain Jack Harkness, to change that. Jack/Ianto, AU, TW1 Agent!Ianto.
1. Part I

To The Sticking Place-

_**Macbeth:**_  
><em> If we should fail?<em>

_**Lady Macbeth:**_  
><em> We fail?<em>  
><em> But screw your courage to the sticking place,<em>  
><em> And we'll not fail.<br>_

_Macbeth Act I, Scene 7_

* * *

><p>Part I-<p>

Jack getting in shouting arguments over the phone is not a particularly odd occurrence, but after ten minutes of successive insults, Suzie Costello sighs and trundles up the stairs to tell Jack to shut up because he's scaring the new girl shitless.

"...have no _right_ to interfere with the way I run things around here!" she hears Jack bellow as she gets close enough to make out his words. "We had a fucking deal, Hartman! Don't you dare think you can waltz in here and balls things u-Oh, _please_, the world hasn't ended yet! We fended off those Caxtarids fine without your or UNIT's help!"

Suzie opens the door slowly, careful not to make any noise, and slips into Jack's office as unobtrusively as possible, though she needn't have bothered as Jack is much too busy with his newest in a long string of rows with Torchwood One's bitchy administrator Yvonne Hartman to notice her.

"_My_ team," Jack snarls into the receiver, his hand curled around the phone so tightly it looks as if it might shatter, "is perfectly proficient at both hand-to-hand combat _and_ handling firearms. We _do not_ want one of your psychopathic, xenophobic windup robots. I'll take on Caxtarids and Plasmavores and _Daleks_ before I let any one of your murdering scum into this-What do you mean, I don't have a choice? What're you going to do, _kill_ me?"

Suzie winces and resists the urge to wrench the phone out of Jack's hand before he can do any more damage. While Torchwood Three is basically self-sufficient, Torchwood London still has the power to make things quite difficult for them if they had the right motivation. Though for different reasons, Suzie wants Torchwood London's interference almost as little as Jack. She likes Torchwood Three's chaotic atmosphere and total lack of bureaucracy, complete with a boss who could care less about protocols and regulations. She crosses her arms over her chest nervously and looks over the huge piles of papers on his desk disdainfully, cursing Jack for whatever mad thing he did to bring the wrath of Torchwood One on them.

Suddenly, Jack's face clouds with fury and he jumps to his feet. "She said _what_?" he yells.

Cold fear wells up inside her and she has to speak up.

"What is it, Jack?" she asks, and his eyes shift to her abruptly, but he doesn't answer.

"She can't do _that_," he says, angry and desperate at the same time. "There's a fucking rift in time and space here! How are we supposed to do our bleeding jobs if she cuts our funding? And you, what the hell did you say to her?"

"Jack," Suzie whispers.

"_You_," Jack snarls, now shaking furiously. "You...How dare...You're..." he struggles to find a word to describe his rage and ends up shouting something in a language Suzie doesn't recognize into the phone before slamming it down on his deck causing a pile of papers to fall and scatter all over the floor.

"Fuck!" Jack shouts, winding both hands into his hair, "God dammit!"

"Jack!" Suzie cries, starting to get seriously worried, "What's going on?"

"Apparently, now, _after five fucking years_, we're understaffed," he hisses, slamming a fist down on the hard oak of his desk. "_Now_ she decides to 'pitch in!'"

"We're getting new members?" Suzie deduces, wondering why this is such a big deal. In her four years at Torchwood she hasn't ever seen Jack this angry before.

"Hartman, that complete_ cow_," Jack snarls, starting to pace up and down in front of the glass wall of his office. "She convinced the Queen that we're some sort of...of _rogue _branch and now if we refuse the transfers she'll cut our funding!"

"You think they'll be spies?" Suzie asks, stepping directly in front of Jack's desk. Outside the window she sees both Owen and the new tech, Toshiku, or something watching the unfolding scene above them warily.

"Oh, I _know_ they'll be spies," Jack says, gritting his teeth unattractively, or at least in a way that's unattractive outside of sex. "I could deal with bloody spies, but Hartman's decided that we're short on field agents so she's sending one of her London..._assassins_!" He spits the word like a curse. "There's a reason I haven't had much contact with Torchwood One since I took over. They're all 'shoot first and ask questions later' and 'if it's alien, it's ours.' Xenophobic _wankers_, the lot of them. And now they're sending one _here_."

He sinks back to his chair and leans his elbows on the desk, cradling his head. "She's trying to throw all that I've worked for in my face. Finally, when I just got this place back on its feet...One of her _best_ agents, indeed."

Suzie looks out over Hub, disorderly and filthy as usual, over Owen's desk and the quivering tech hiding behind her computer (God, she's only been here a week and already her terrified manner is pissing Suzie off,) and wonders what the Torchwood One agent, so used to the glittering Canary Wharf Tower, will think of this place.

Later, when Yvonne Hartman manages to give them the name, Suzie is somewhat disappointed when Jack pulls up Ianto Jones' file. Most of it is sealed, even the circumstances of his recruitment, but he's only twenty-two. Practically a baby. She isn't ashamed to admit that she wished for something a bit more exciting.

But when Jack manages to get at the sealed information through "old friends" at Torchwood One, she regrets that wish.

* * *

><p>They know. It's the first thought that runs through Ianto Jones' mind the second he is introduced to the four person team that makes up Torchwood Three. Captain Jack Harkness' hateful reaction to him when Ianto met him on the Plass could be explained away, because everyone at Torchwood One who's anyone knows that Harkness despises everything and anything to do with the head office, but the looks of horror, disgust, fear, and loathing he receives from the rest of the team when he enters the Hub through their ridiculously impractical "invisible lift" cannot be ignored. Ianto is not particularly surprised they've managed to uncover the classified information in his file, but he'd be lying if he denied that he was hoping he could have a fresh start in Cardiff.<p>

Torchwood Cardiff is a disaster, Ianto thinks scornfully, focusing on surveying the tiny underground Hub. It's a complete mess, garbage, half-eaten pizza, and unorganized paperwork scattered everywhere, blatantly alien machinery just _lying out in the open_, and is that a human hand in a _jar_?

"This is Ianto Jones," Harkness is saying gruffly, not even bothering to hide the fact that he finds Ianto abhorrent. "Jones, this is Owen Harper, our medical officer."

He gestures to a short, dark haired man who gives him a look of deepest loathing. Ianto makes a mental note to keep him at an arm's length.

"Toshiko Sato, our tech expert." Harkness points towards the Asian woman, Japanese by the name, sitting in front of several monitors. She doesn't even dare to make eye-contact with him and hunches her shoulders defensively in what seems to be an automatic reaction when Harkness singles her out.

"And Suzie Costello." The woman raises her eyebrows confrontationally as Ianto gives her a short, polite nod, her mouth twisted in disgust. "Second-in-command. She'll be handling your integration into your new position here. Any inquiries can go though her. Any questions?"

Ianto raises a quizzical eyebrow at him and Harkness scowls, seeming to realize his error.

"Nevermind," Harkness corrects himself, and Ianto keeps silent, at attention _still_, despite the fact that he has boatloads of questions. "But let me make one thing clear," he says darkly, dropping all pretense of professionalism. "You'll find we run things differently around here. You're taking _my _orders now, meaning you'll follow Torchwood _Three_'s rules, not London's. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Ianto says calmly, because even if Harkness has sunk to the level of childish petulance, _he_ certainly isn't going to.

For some reason, this only seems to further incense the head of Torchwood Three.

"Don't assume to know what those rules are," Harkness warns and Ianto realizes with a touch of irritation that this probably means there isn't a Code of Conduct manual. "You're a rookie here, an extra pair of hands, until we find suitable recruits elsewhere." The _and then I can get rid of you_ is implied. "And get out of that ridiculous stance. We don't do any of the saluting bollocks here either. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ianto repeats, relaxing from his at-attention stance. "However, I am required to inform you that your orders are superseded by London's in certain situations."

Harkness's face twists in anger, and Ianto notes the blood vessel on his temple bulging with wry amusement. He grits his teeth, seeming to be restraining himself from punching Ianto right then and there.

"And those situations would be...?" Harkness questions acidly, straightening and sticking his fists into the pockets of his overly showy military coat. (It is a very nice coat, though.)

"Classified," Ianto responds coolly, honestly wondering why, if Jack Harkness is really _this_ obstinate, Hartman hasn't had him killed yet.

Harkness' eyes narrow at him, but Ianto refuses to look away, calm and collected as always.

"Figures," Harkness says almost sullenly, turning away, and Ianto is struck at the immaturity of a man more than a decade his senior. That's how he appears, anyway; Harkness' file is oddly devoid of any useful information, including, strangely enough, his age.

"I'll be in my office," Ianto's new boss announces unnecessarily, as if he would be anywhere else, and heads up the stairs to the second floor of the underground bunker. "He's all yours, Suzie!" Ianto watches him go with increasing skepticism (Did he really _have_ to swish his coat around like that?) and then turns to Costello.

"Right this way then. I guess I'll give you the grand tour," Costello says, looking over his black ops gear carefully.

He doesn't begrudge her this; it was obvious from the moment he stepped into the room (descended from the ceiling?) that he sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Quick question though," she starts curiously. "How many weapons have you got on you?"

"Seventeen, ma'am," Ianto answers automatically and both Harper and Sato raise their heads from the work they were pretending to do while he and Harkness clashed to stare at him.

"_Seventeen_?" Harper repeats, as if he hadn't heard perfectly well the first time.

Ianto frowns. It's not that much of a stretch, considering how many pockets he has in his vest.

The amount of weaponry Ianto carries does not seem to bother Costello as much as Harper, however.

"Did you just call me _ma'am_?" she asks, horrified. "God, I know you London lot are frigid bastards, but _never _call me ma'am."

"Noted," Ianto replies formally. She is the second-in-command, after all.

She leads him around the main floor first, before proceeding to the lower levels and Ianto pretends not to notice Harper and Sato's eyes watching his every move.

Day to day life is shockingly different at Torchwood Three, moreso than Ianto could have imagined when he was first informed of his transfer. For one, while it was not _completely _out of the ordinary to be woken up at the middle of the night due to a work-related occurrence in London, it certainly wasn't the norm. In Cardiff, it seems like every other night he is being woken up at three am to deal with the next increasingly ridiculous alien that comes through the Rift.

The small number of staff and the close-quarters they are forced to work in are a given, but what really surprises Ianto is how _different_ the people are at Torchwood Three. They are brilliant, to be sure, but in such a small team, it would have to be a requirement to be brilliant (that or be really good at shooting things.) But they are so...unsuitable for Torchwood work. So loud, questioning everything, so casual and rude, bordering on insubordinate. None of them are Welsh, which annoys him in a vague sort of way, and they seem to assume that because he is, he speaks the language fluently. Ridiculous, as less than a fourth of the population of Wales does and nearly all of them live in the countryside.

Harkness is the most reckless man Ianto has ever met, always rushing headfirst into danger, unlike any leader Ianto has ever heard of before. Harper is caustic and insulting, more like a hormonal teenager than a man with a medical degree, and he never misses an opportunity have a go at Ianto over his professional demeanor, his uniform, and the fact that Ianto is not prone to emotional outbursts. It make more sense after reading his file, but Ianto finds him dull and insipid, and tries to avoid him if possible.

Sato is, well, rather terrified of him. She tries to make herself as small as possible whenever he enters the room, but as she spent the last eight months in a UNIT Detention Facility he forgives her. Even Costello, the only one who will voluntarily talk to him (which says more about her than it does about him,) has a cruel streak that is utterly inappropriate for her position. They are all so blindingly...well, _human_, compared to the cold, impersonal Torchwood London that he is used to that it makes him feel very old, despite being the youngest of them all. They are all Harkness' hires, of course, which is something in itself when Ianto notices their youth and attractiveness. It corresponds with all the nasty rumours that circulated around One that Ianto never really believed, but he has to say, during the first few weeks of listening to their non-stop commentary on their sexual lives (even _Sato_ pitched in once and a while!) he wondered if they were all shagging each other.

They're lazy and incompetent at the most basic of tasks. They don't even have a filing system when he arrives, just a room filled with empty file cabinets covered with disorganized stacks of paper. And when Ianto asks about it, Harkness snidely suggest that if it bothers him so much, he can organize it himself. It is rather stupid thing to say, technically giving his approval for Ianto to go through all their files, but Ianto is horrified to find that it's not even his main motivation for doing it.

Things are either impossibly busy at Torchwood Three or impossibly boring, and while Sato can always busy herself working on upgrading Torchwood's mainframe, the others surf the web (Ianto is pretty sure both Harkness and Harper spend most of their time in the Hub watching porn) or play useless games. Ianto has little use for either activities and there is only so much time one can spend in the shooting range or making drinkable coffee. So it is _he _who ends up cleaning up after them. It also gives him an excuse to stay when Harkness goes out, so he can break into Harkness' private files and search his office. Harkness isn't completely stupid, some of the locking devices are pretty difficult to get through, but within seven months Ianto has gone through all the files and reported anything of interest to Hartman. It's mostly alien tech that Harkness had scavenged and not reported to London, but there are an alarming amount of references to "the Doctor" in his personal notes both in his Log and on his computer. Harkness appears to have met him personally in the past and appears to be looking forward to meeting him again. Of course, Ianto wonders what kind of relationship (not _that_ kind of relationship, God, Three was rotting his brain) he had with the Torchwood's Number One Enemy, but it's really not any of his business. He is merely London's pawn in the ongoing power struggle between One and Harkness and if Hartman knows what Harkness' connection to the Doctor is, she certainly doesn't inform him.

But still, Three is so...They don't even hold their _firearms_ the correct way, always carrying them around in a sloppy, casual manner, without holsters most of the time, suggesting that they taught themselves how to shoot. Or, as they all carry them the same way, it is more likely that Harkness taught them, passing on his incorrect method down to his subordinates and Ianto has to remind himself to keep from wincing every time he sees any of them wield a gun. If he had more authority, he would personally drag each of them down to the shooting range and show them the proper way, but he doesn't, so he keeps his mouth shut. At one point they find a pterodactyl (or pteranodon?) and _decide to keep it as a pet_. Ianto agrees that it's rather magnificent, but _still. _He avoids commenting on this, tries to keep all the dry comments to the minimum, because the only reason they haven't made rude, patronizing remarks about his age is because they're too busy being disgusted and afraid of him. The second they get too comfortable with his presence...well, he can already imagine what creative taunts Harper will think up and there's nothing in the universe he hates more than being patronized.

They don't particularly like him. Correction: they don't like him at _all_. They don't like the ease with which he wields his guns, his willingness to kill if necessary; Christ, Harkness practically threw a tantrum when he blew a weevil's brains out. (Excuse _him_ for killing the_ rabid alien with teeth the size of his index fingers_.)He's too serious, too conventional, too...Torchwood One for their tastes. He isn't brilliant like they are, just determined and sober. They think his opinion that aliens are a _threat_ is small-minded, they think he's a monster when all his actions have been to save human lives, but the truth is they're the ones who are delusional. They're too lost in the wonder of the universe all around them to see the death and destruction it brings down upon ordinary people just trying to live their lives.

It's...nice though, sometimes, to be surrounded by people who aren't as jaded and cynical as he is, people who can marvel at the complexities of far-off alien technology instead of immediately treating what they find like a resource that can be used to further the interests of Great Britain. To his horror, he finds that after a while he's actually become _fond_ of their eccentricities and whimsical behavior. Harkness is brave and dedicated (he _lives _on base,) Harper's is darkly humorous and steadfast, Costello is enthusiastic and hardworking, Sato is brilliant and loyal, and later, Cooper is principled, almost to the point of naivete, but goodhearted in ways that Ianto sometimes wishes he was.

But he has a job to do, he was sent here to monitor Torchwood Three's activities (also, he still has not managed to hack into the mainframe and despite his talents with technology, he's _nothing_ compared to Sato) and breaking away from his faceless "Torchwood One Agent" persona would only make things more complicated. So they hate him, and with his disdainful remarks he makes sure they think he dislikes them as well, even as time goes on it couldn't be further from the truth and alright, maybe that stings a bit. But from the second they got a hold of his file they were always going to hate him, so he doesn't take it to heart.

Even after a year of working at Torchwood Three he is still the outsider, the person that causes all conversation to grind to a halt whenever he enters the room, the stickler for the rules, always reminding them of how dangerous and against protocols their actions are. He fades into the background when things are slow, but during combat he is the immoral, emotionless killer that they all have to watch out for, to keep on a short leash. He hasn't actually killed anyone since he transferred to Cardiff-one of Harkness' first explicit orders was that Ianto not kill anyone unless he got his approval-but he's still the one who shot the human dealer of alien goods in the legs to prevent him from escaping, the one who blows up weevils without even the slightest hesitation, the one who could care less for the well-being of "accidental" alien visitors.

Ianto has tucked his shredded conscience deep inside him and is willing to do nearly anything to do his job. Ianto cannot count how many times Harkness has grabbed his collar, slammed him into a wall, and shouted obscenities at him after he did something the other man obviously finds deplorable.

But that's his entire purpose, after all. He does all the dirty things that other people could not live with themselves after doing, the things they would rather not hear about, and he does them mostly without complaint. He does them because no one else will and _someone _has to if the human race is to survive the harsh and unforgiving universe they have found themselves in. But most of all, he does them because he _can,_ because the part of him that would have protested against his actions died a long time ago and he doesn't really give a damn.

He didn't use to be like this. There was a time, years ago, when Ianto more resembled the average man (boy) his age. He used to go down to the pub, watch James Bond movies, go on dates. But Torchwood has a way of dulling over that part of his life, making his former interests seem mundane and pointless, sometimes even childish. Working for Torchwood is like flowing water smoothing and shaping a stone into whatever form it likes. It's slow, inevitable, and in the end, you'll be completely unrecognizable from what you once were. But this is something Ianto Jones came to terms with years ago. It hardly bothers him anymore.

And Jack Harkness, Jack _bloody_ Harkness...Ianto hates him sometimes. He hates his stupid American accent, his annoyingly bright smile, his witty commentary when they all might be killed by aliens any second, and most of all his blindingly irrational crush on the man. Ianto's fancied men before, so that's not new, but he's never fancied his boss before, and certainly not a boss who's hated his guts. But Ianto's nothing if not professional, so he buries his absurd infatuation away (to keep his conscience company, let's say) and life goes on.

Of course, this is Torchwood Three, so losing his last shreds of dignity has to happen sometime and when it does, it happens in the worst possible way. Ever.

And it's not funny, no matter what Owen says.

* * *

><p>Jack Harkness yawns sleepily, stretching out his arms wantonly. He shifts over onto his other side and pulls up the comforter further, letting out a soft groan. There's a rustling next to him and then the bed jerks violently.<p>

"What. The _fuck._" An unfamiliar voice enunciates, sounding murderous and-_Oh,_ _you have _got_ to be kidding me_.

Jack opens his eyes and spins around in horror to see Jones next him on the bed, quite obviously naked, sitting up and clutching the sheet around his waist in a death grip, pale and shocked.

"Oh, no, no, no, this is not happening," Jack says, looking wildly around his room for some sign that this is just a bad dream. A very bad dream. A nightmare.

"You-" Jones starts furiously, right hand going for his hip where his gun belt would be if, as Jack remembers distinctly with a healthy amount of dread, he hadn't _removed it with his __teeth_ sometime last night.

"Okay," Jack say, holding up his hands defensively, though by the way Jones is holding onto the sheet, he's probably _not_ going to jump him and attempt to strange him with his bare hands. "Right. What the _hell_ are you doing here? No. That's a bad question."

"_How _is that a bad question?" Jones hisses angrily.

Jack ignores him. "Okay, last thing I remember is...Shit, what did I _do_ yesterday? Besides the obvious."

Jones splutters and turns red.

"Right then, there were reports of riots in some posh shopping centre-" Jack says, reaching up to run his hand through his hair distractedly.

"-St. David's," Jones interjects automatically.

"-we went to investigate, Tosh brought that new scanner she developed-"

"-you got us kicked out of Marks & Spencer for flirting with the the manager-"

"-traced it to that perfume place on Queen's St-"

"-_and_ the assistant manager-"

"-Tosh found something odd about one of the samples so we brought it back to the Hub-"

"-Harper accidentally sprayed it next to the fan..." Jones adds and then pauses, seeming to go even paler, his bullet-scarred torso stiffening. There are a plethora of suspicious bruises on his neck.

"I am going to get dressed now," he says carefully, Welsh accent oddly amplified, "and how about we never mention this again."

Jones gets out of the bed, dragging the sheets with him, picks up his trousers off the floor and makes for the door.

"Hey! Those are _my _sheets!" Jack shouts at his back (scarred as well, though not as badly as his chest) and Jones gives him a very rude gesture in reply.

"_Son of a-_" Jack snarls as he disappears from his eyesight and suddenly feels in desperate need of a shower, almost hysterical at the urge to get Jones off his skin.

When he was younger, and a much different man, he would have hardly cared that he had just slept with a murdering sociopath, in fact he slept with quite a lot once upon a time, but this was _different_ (It was _Jones_, for God's sake) and he feels rather sick.

He throws his feet over the side of the bed, wiping his eyes blearily and winces at the familiar ache.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seriously? _Seriously_? It's bad enough that he had to shag _Jones_, but he wasn't even on _top_?

Swearing creatively under his breath, Jack goes to the showers, trying to calm himself down with pleasant thought of all the different ways he can _murder_ Owen.

To his surprise, he finds Owen in the showers, humming happily under his breath while shampooing up his hair.

"You look like shit," Owen tells him when he spots him, the most cheerful Jack has ever seen him. "Tough luck, mate."

"You," Jack says calmly, "just had a three-way with Suzie and Toshiko, didn't you?"

"And it was bloody _glorious_," Owen announces triumphantly.

"I'm _so_ docking your pay this month," Jack replies viciously.

Owen gives him a strange look. "What the hell's crawled up your arse, Harkne...Oh, god, _Jones_."

"Shut. Up."

"You had _Jones_?" Owen blurts out gleefully. "Oh, Christ, that's...that's...How did he react? Please tell me he went _just a bit _crazy, _please_."

"Let's just say, if he had his gun, I'm 100% sure he would've shot me."

Owen cackles in the least sympathetic way possible, and Jack contemplates all the ways he can kill Owen and dispose of the body without anyone _ever_ finding out.

"Ehh, you could've done worse," Owen says generously, washing out the shampoo now. He's in such a good mood he hasn't even made a comment about Jack seeing him naked.

"I suppose Jones is attractive...in, you know, a sort of jailbait way," he continues, sounding doubtful. "I mean, _objectively-_"

"Finish that sentence and I really will dock your pay," Jack threatens and Owens grins nastily.

"Yes, sir!" he says, saluting, reaching for the soap and Jack purposefully makes him drop it.

* * *

><p>"Don't mess with Jones" is one of the first things that Tosh and Owen tell Gwen Cooper when she first comes to work for Torchwood. She isn't sure if they're joking when they first tell her, because she's still processing that, well, <em>aliens<em> not only exist, but that they're also quite a lot of them in _Cardiff_, of all places, and a serial killer blew her brains out in front of her just a few days ago. Also, they seem to make an inordinate amount of jokes, so how is she supposed to know?

"No, seriously," Tosh says quietly, looking very serious as they all pack the SUV full of stuff to track down the comet on her first day (night?) of work. "They're a bunch of other rules too, but that's at the top of the list."

"Okay..." Gwen says, glancing over at the serious young man wearing the type of clothes that secret military agents usually wear in films. She assumes he is Jones. He's looking over a list of what's probably inventory at the other side of the garage. "Why?"

Owen and Tosh glance at each other.

"He's not exactly..." Tosh started.

"He killed his girlfriend a couple years ago," Owen cuts her off, disgust plain on his face. "They both worked for our London Branch and she went rogue. I dunno what the details are, but she broke the rules and he killed her. That's how he made field agent."

Gwen swallowed carefully and looked over at Jones again, horror causing her entire body to feel like it had been dunked in ice water.

"And Captain Harkness hired him?" she whispered unnecessarily.

"Of course not," Owen says vehemently, glaring at her as if it's her fault that she doesn't know what was going on. "He was transferred here by the higher ups. One, cos we're short on staff, but also to monitor us. Jack and Torchwood One, that's our base of operations in London, don't get along. At all. They have a different idea of how to deal with aliens. Mostly involving killing them. According to his file, Jones has a kill count of over thirty people. That's just humans, mind you. Torchwood One doesn't really keep track of the aliens in the same way."

Gwen glances over at the young man again, wondering, not for the first time, if this taking this job was all a big mistake. Maybe she should've just stayed with the police, away from this kind of institutionalized violen-

"Don't worry!" Tosh says reassuringly, probably seeing the look of fear on her face. "We don't do that kind of thing here, and Jack won't let Jones either. He's been here for a little more than a year and he hasn't killed anyone, I swear." She turns toward Owen, obviously expecting him to back her up. He nods and Gwen feels just a bit better.

"We just thought you should know, becau-"

"Alright, hurry up!" Jack shouts grabbing a metal case from next to Jones and then they're all getting into the SUV and there's no time for talking.

Just hours later, though, sooner than she'd like, she finds out exactly the kind of man Ianto Jones is.

"But what if it doesn't take the bait?" Gwen asks worriedly, holding the gun as far away from her body as the cramped SUV backseat allows. "What if it doesn't leave her body? How do we kill it then?"

"If she dies, the host does, right?" Jones asks, on the other side of the backseat. "We just kill her then."

"K-kill her?" Gwen gapes, leaning forward to stare at him, the rest of the car gone very quiet, "We can't...she's just a poor girl who's body been hijacked by that gas alien thing!"

"They are two people already dead," Jones replies, looking at her part disdain, part confusion, "And if we can't get it out of her, she's dead anyway. We can't risk her killing any more civilians and Harper here has already proved that it's not safe even locked up."

"Fuck you, Jones," Owen says from the passenger seat.

"But it's not her fault!" Gwen protests, feeling sick. "You can't just put her down like an animal! It's not right, it's-"

"No one will be putting anything down," Harkness says irritably and from her seat behind him, she can just see his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Understood, Jones?"

"Yes, sir," Jones replies, almost with an air of weary concession.

Gwen swallows and looks at the gun in her hands, doubt worrying away at her twice as strong as before. She looks up and sees Harkness glaring at Jones through the rear-view mirror. Jones doesn't seem to notice.

Jack is true to his word. No one dies except for the parasite, but in the back of her mind, Gwen fears how this new exciting job of hers will change her.

Time alleviates most of those fears. As it turns out, Jones doesn't casually suggest the killing of innocent girls on an (all that) regular basis and mostly sticks to himself, away from the others. Sometimes, on slow days, Gwen even forgets he's there. Even after that horrible incident with Jasmine.

But even that doesn't change anything really, because Jack controls him and won't let him do any harm while he's in charge. Jones listens to him, probably out of obligation, not as if he actually respects Jack's opinions, but it's far better than the alternative. Gwen trusts Jack, and despite her uneasiness, forces down her misgivings, and focuses on doing her job.

* * *

><p>According to Jack, the faeries cannot be contained. They cannot be killed, cannot be stopped. They have been kidnapping children from the dawn of humanity and the only thing they want is their "Chosen" Ones.<p>

"If they want to they can make great storms, wild seas, turn the world to ice. Kill every living thing," the child says, struggling against Jack. "Let me go!"

It's easy to see what the next logical move is.

Ianto Jones' gun is out before any of them see it coming and he presses it deftly against the little girl's temple.

"And if we kill her?" he asks calmly. The entire forest goes dead calm, even Jack, Gwen, and the child freeze next to him. "She's _your_ Chosen One. What happens to you if I kill her?"

"Jones, NO!" Jack shouts, grasping Jasmine tightly. "Put the fucking gun down!"

Ianto ignores him.

"Foolish," the faerie voice hisses angrily, ugly and gnarled face twisting, "We will rip you to shredsssss..."

"Before or after I put a bullet in her brain?" he presses, hoping against hope that his theory is correct.

"Jones!" Gwen cries. "What are you doing?"

"You will not hurt us by killing the child," the faerie snarls. "But we will destroy you if you kill the Chosen."

The voice is angry, not afraid, and Ianto reluctantly believes their words.

"Alright, then," he says calmly and lowers the gun.

Jack lets go of Jasmine and grabs his collar. "You son of bitch," he snarls in his face, but Ianto only feels a sense of disappointment that his plan did not work, not fear of Jack.

He looks stoically back into Jack's angry eyes. Jack sees what he has to do now and it's killing him, and Ianto doesn't mind if he takes his anger out on him.

Jack turns, letting on hand falls to grip Jasmine's shoulder, but keeping the other firmly on the front of his vest. His face contorts, his eyes starting to shine suspiciously, but ultimately he comes to the only decision that makes any sense.

"The child won't be harmed?" he asks desperately

Ianto turns away, holstering his firearm.

None of the rest of the team will talk to Jack after that, but even between desperately seeking their forgiveness, Jack still finds time to be mad at him. It would be funny-he has quite unexpectedly found himself in the position that Ianto inhabits every single day-except for the fact that anyone with eyes can tell that he's miserable. For his part, Ianto avoids him for the rest of the day simply to elude Jack's cold, furious stare. Unfortunately, Jack has other plans.

Ianto wakes up at two in the morning to the sound of someone picking his lock. He didn't use to be such a light sleeper, but the PTSD had to be useful for something, didn't it?

He reaches for the gun on his bedside table and sits up slowly, cocking it as he goes. He's just about to throw both feet over the side of the bed when the door gives. The intruder closes it quietly behind him and takes the first few familiar steps into Ianto's flat.

He would recognize those footsteps anywhere, because, really, how many people wear WWII-era clodhoppers?"

He considers the oddity of the situation for a few seconds, then sets his gun back on the bedside table lightly. He lies back down, tucking his arms underneath his head, and stares at the ceiling.

The footsteps draw closer and stop at his open bedroom door. Ianto hears the light muffled sound of wool against wood; Jack Harkness leans against the frame of his door, not entering his room. There is a long silence.

"Do you often break into your employees' places of residence?" Ianto asks the darkness calmly, still staring at the ceiling.

To his credit, Jack does not react to the fact that Ianto is aware of his presence.

"The girl," Jack says, voice cold. "Would you really have shot her?"

"If it would have killed them," Ianto answers truthfully. "But it wouldn't have, so what exactly is the point of this?"

"So you would murder an innocent child just to get at what you consider to be an alien threat?" Jack asks darkly, his disapproval of Torchwood One policies emanating from his words so potently he doesn't even have to mention their base of operations by name.

"No," Ianto replies, trying not let irritation seep into his voice. "I would have murdered an innocent child in order to save the other children that would have been kidnapped after her."

"That's all this is to you, then?" Jack persists. "A numbers game?"

"Everything is a numbers game," Ianto murmurs and Jack scoffs in disgust, shifting into an upright position.

"So there isn't anyone in the entire world you wouldn't sacrifice?" Jack asks dispassionately, tone of voice suggesting that he's seconds away from hitting Ianto with something blunt and heavy.

"That's right," Ianto replies, but it is a lie. There are approximately five people in the world (who are still alive) whom he could never shoot. He's related to four by blood or marriage, but the fifth is standing in this room.

But that's none of Jack's business, and it's really easier for everyone involved if Torchwood Three continues to think of him as an emotionless soldier.

"You're sick," Jack says in disgust.

"Yes, of course," Ianto murmurs, digging his fingers into the bedspread to control how furious he suddenly is. "But tell me, _sir_, what's the difference between sacrificing one child or...shall we say, _twelve_ children, again?"

Jack inhales sharply and Ianto would regret bringing it up, but he's too angry now to care.

"How-" Jack starts, sounding strained.

"Military records are not nearly as secure as the government would like them to be," Ianto replies, sitting up on his elbows now to look at the shape of Jack's figure in the darkness.

Jack says nothing, and Ianto can't see the expression on his face.

"I don't know what you were doing in 1965," Ianto says, watching the other man carefully. "I also was under the impression that time travel hadn't been mastered yet, but no matter. The real question is what the _hell_ do you think you're doing in my flat?"

It's not all he's asking Jack, but he doesn't think it has to be vocalized for Jack to get the picture.

He barely sees Jack's face move in the darkness, but in the end he does not reply.

"Get out," Ianto snaps and he does, slamming his flat door childishly behind him.

Ianto lies back down on the bed and tries to convince himself the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach isn't guilt.

And then there is...well, the cannibals.

Owen had spent the entire ride to the small village in the Brecon Beacons complaining, both about the countryside in general as well as Wales, and it had been _really _annoying. But now, locked in a basement full of human remains that are being _eaten_ by the house's inhabitants with pounding headache, he's starting to think that Owen has a point. On the plus side, Gwen isn't playing stupid school games, prompting Owen to play along and cruelly ask who the last person Ianto ever kissed was. Technically, it's Jack, but the last person he _really_ kissed was Lisa and it takes all his self control to not even bother looking up (not to mention ripping Owen a new one) from the tent he's trying to put together while telling him it's none of his business.

But that's besides the point, the point is they're locked in a basement and while Ianto doesn't mind dying in the line of duty, he'd rather not be _chopped into bits and eaten_.

Tosh is working on getting them out; Ianto knows that Jack taught her how to get out of even the most secure cell after UNIT released her, but they don't have the proper tools. He would've had something useful in his vest, but it's been taken along with his guns and he feels naked without it. Suddenly, the door opens and a middle-aged woman with a rifle steps through.

Ianto has already been humiliated once today and thinks. "_Please_," before snatching the gun deftly from her and smashing her on the head with the butt before she can even blink.

"Jones!" Tosh yelps as the woman crashes to the ground.

"Right," Ianto says, inspecting the woman. "Looks human, I reckon."

"So..." Tosh whispers, still slightly in shock. "They're human then?"

"Could be possessed by something," Ianto says darkly. "Let's go. I'd hold on to that if I were you though," he says gesturing towards the crowbar she's holding and Tosh nods.

Only they don't get too far before they're cornered by a large man in a kitchen that has been made into a makeshift butchery.

Still, even with the stench of human remains around him, Ianto doesn't start to feel sick until he notices the lustful way the man eyes Tosh.

* * *

><p>Usually, Toshiko Sato tries not to think about Jones. It's not as if he's ever done anything to her, but every time she looks at him she sees the unsympathetic UNIT prison guards that locked her in a tiny cell for eight months of her life that she will never get back. And every time he looks at her she feels the rough, ratty maroon jumpsuit against her skin and the walls seem to close in all around her. It's not fair that he's here because she's gotten so much better, made so much progress, and he only gets in the way. She's stopped jumping at small noises, conquered her fear of elevators and other tight spaces (mostly,) and is generally getting back a lot of her lost confidence.<p>

But being trapped by a murderous cannibal who could be planning to eat her or rape her or both, Tosh starts appreciate his presence.

"Are you shitting me?" Jones says suddenly, no fear on his face whatsoever. "We came all the way up here and you're just an arse load of inbred _hicks_?"

The man's eyes leave her and he turns his maddened visage towards Jones, gun raising slightly to compensate for the different in their heights.

"What did yeh say?" he asks slowly, annoyance shifting across his face.

"Cos, this is, well, rather pathetic, innit?" Jones says in that condescending voice that Tosh hates. His accent has thickened and he's suddenly sounding much more working class than he did five minutes ago.

On the floor across the room, a teenage boy with his hands tied behind his back moans in pain.

"I was hoping for something a bit more interesting, yeah?" Jones continues, glaring down the barrel of the cannibal's gun. "Maybe something evil, fangs and claws and the like, rabid enough that Jack bloody Harkness would let me shoot it, cos, Christ, let me tell you, he's a regular idiot sometimes. But no, of course not, because it had to be something as pathetic as bloody _cannibals_."

"Do you _want_ to die, meat?" the man snarls, pushing the barrel of the rifle further into Jones' face.

"Oh, please, you probably forgot to load the bloody gun," Jones says mockingly. "I reckon you're as stupid as that tart locked downstairs with her brains all over the floor, yeah?"

The man's eyes widen and he turns his head to shout. "Gildas! Percy! Git down here! Go see if Hel-"

Jones strikes. He shoves the gun away and kicks the man hard in the stomach, sending him crashing against the wooden table in the center of the room. With a flash, his right hand comes out and then the man's nose explodes in a splatter of blood. Jones kicks him in the head one more time for good measure and he slumps unconscious onto plastic sheeting.

"Well, that's sorted then," Jones says, sounding vicious.

Tosh lets out a shakily exhale as Jones wipes the man's blood on his pants.

"R-Right," she says, cursing herself for her stutter. "We should-"

"Oi, what the fuck are you playing at!" a shout comes from the other side of the room and two men burst through the plastic sheets, guns in hand.

Jones grabs her by the jacket. "Run!" he hisses and then shoves her towards the exit.

So she does. She tears through the plastic sheets and yanks the door open and runs out into the cold night, through the forest. She hears yelling and, oh God, shots, but she is a filthy coward so she does not stop until she nearly collides with Owen.

"Tosh!" Gwen gasps. "Ohmygod, Tosh, what happened?"

"They're not..." she trembles, clinging to Owen while he checks her for injuries. "They're human, cannibals. They've murdered all the villagers. He told me to run, so I...Oh, I left him there, he's-"

"Cannibals?" Gwen whispers. "You mean-"

"She's fine," Owen mutters. "And don't worry, Tosh, he's Jones. We should be worrying about the cannibals."

"Oi, over here!" Gwen shouts, presumably to Jack, but instead a constable is pushing aside the bushes, gun leading the way.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Owen asks angrily, turning around and Tosh grips his back tightly, a cold wave of fear coursing through her.

The constable smiles-_so young, probably around the same age as Jones, dimples in his cheeks-_

"Put down your firearms," he says coldly. "Slowly."

Ten minutes later, they're being forced back into the Big House and Tosh gasps at the scene that lies before her.

"What?" the constable chokes out."What the bleeding hell happened here?"

The entire place is a mess. Tables, chairs, and cupboards are smashes into pieces on the floor, the plastic sheeting has been torn down completely and five bodies are spread across the room. To her horror, the one at the far enough of the room, right by the stairs is Jones, beaten almost beyond recognition.

"He killed Percy and Trysta!" one of the only two men standing moans, pointing at Jones' prone form and holding his bleeding arm tightly. "He's fucking mad, that's what he is!"

"Son of a- Uncle Evan!" the constable pushes past them to examine the man who had threatened her in the kitchen. He's still in the same place Jones left him.

The only other man standing, older, most likely in his sixties, aims his handgun at them before they can take advantage of the constable's move.

"You're...you're the villagers?" Tosh realizes in horror.

"But the villagers are dead," Gwen whispers.

"Shut it!" the older man snarls.

"Of course," Owen says, half-sarcastic, half-horrified. "Only in the bloody countryside! You _sick_ fuckers."

"I said shut it!" the man shouts and fires a shot at the ground.

Owen opens his mouth to retort, but then the room starts vibrating and Jack arrives as he always does, just a little late, to save the day.

When Jack has stopped shooting, Tosh rushes over to Jones.

"Owen!" she shouts and Owen abandons the cannibal he was checking over to join her.

"Oh, God," Owen groans, pushing up Jones' shirt to reveal the mess that is his chest. "Shit, there might be internal bleeding!"

Jack steps over to look down at Jones and his face twists in disgust, but he makes no comment.

"I don't think he's been shot," Owen says, checking over Jones' legs and arms. "Definitely a concussion, bruised probably broken ribs, right arm too, his knee's busted up pretty ba-"

Jones gives a muted groan of pain and his eyes flicker open and closed.

"Jones," Owen says, grabbing his hand. "Jones, stay with me, try not to pass out, for God's sake don't move, an ambulance's coming-"

"Kd," Jones mumbles.

"What?" Tosh whispers, leaning down to touch his face hesitatingly.

"Kid," Jones slurs, head lolling. "Kid's upstairs."

"Gwen!" Jack yells over at her. "That's kid's upstairs, go-never mind, I'll go."

Tosh looks up and for the first time notices that the entire lower left side of Gwen's jacket is soaked with blood.

On the floor, Jones lets out a short giggle.

Two hours later, she, Jack, and Owen are sitting in the Brecon War Memorial Hospital waiting room while Gwen and Jones get patched up. Gwen emerges presently and then Jones, right arm in plaster, limping and looking dazed.

"What the hell are you doing up?" Owen snarls, making a beeline for him the second he enters the room. "You're staying here at _least_ for a week after-"

"Shut up," Jones grumbles, waving a uncoordinated hand at him. "I'm fine."

"Jones, maybe it'd be better-" Tosh starts timidly, but he ignores her.

"Let's go," he growls, limping past them and pushes the double doors under the exit sign open.

"Right, then," Jack says, scowling after Jones. "Let's get out of this wasteland."

"Thank _God_," Owen says raising his eyes upwards even though she knows he's a staunch atheist.

On the way back, Jones rests his bruised face against the backseat window, and he and Gwen both wince every time they go over a particularly large bump. Tosh has to physically restrain herself from staring at him because he looks shockingly young, the youngest he's ever looked in the year and a half he's worked with them.

"Oi, Jones!" Owen says from the passenger seat for the sixth time. "No falling asleep, I bloody told you. Fuck, I knew we should have left you back at the hospital."

Jones lets out a snort of amusement. "Oh, please, this is _nothing _compared to being tortured by Kirllitane."

There is a long, horrified silence and they all turn slowly to stare at Jones.

"Or Foamasi," Jones adds.

"I think you're confused," Jack says, looking back at Jones through the rear-view mirror. "Foamasi are an inherently peaceful species."

"Yeah, but they never shut up," Jones replies, voice slightly muffled by the glass.

There's another pause and Owen turns around in his seat to stare at Jones.

"Did you just make a joke?" he asks, sounding horrified. "Oh, fuck, it's the end of the universe."

"I have a concussion from having my arse handed to me by middle-aged villagers from bum fuck nowhere," Jones mumbles, closing his eyes. "You'll have to excuse me, this is hardly my finest moment."

Next to her, Gwen lets out a laugh that quickly turns into a cough.

"They were middle-aged," Tosh agrees. "But they were middle-aged _cannibals_. That has to count for something, right?"

Even in the darkness of the SUV, she sees the corner of Jones' mouth upturn slightly.

* * *

><p>Jones sits hunched over on the autopsy table with his shirt off, and Owen Harper glares at his torso as he examines how he's been healing up. It figures that he'd be ripped, the tosser. Of course, he's got the scars to go with it and Owen'll pass on those, thanks so very much.<p>

"I'm _fine_," Jones stresses, looking uncomfortable. "It's been a week and I haven't keeled over yet."

He pulls his black under armour shirt on with his right hand carefully and then shrugs his vest on.

"Get plenty of sleep," Owen prescribes shortly. "No working overtime and for God's sake, don't go shooting anything for a while."

"I can shoot with my left, you know," Jones responds, wincing slightly as he slides off the table.

"Doesn't mean you should," Owen mutters darkly. "Now get out of my way, I've got that alien slime I need to look at."

Jones complies, giving him a slightly contemptuous look as he goes.

Owen really, _really_ hates him sometimes, No, that's a lie. He hates him all the time. He knows it it wasn't Jack's idea for him to transfer here, but couldn't he just _accidentally _shoot the man and get him out of their hair?

It's bad enough that they have to have Torchwood One watching their every move, but of all the people they could've sent, it _had _to be the psycho who'd executed his girlfriend for being a "threat to the security of the Empire" or some Torchwood One bollocks like that. Owen cannot imagine how warped he must be too even _think _about doing such a thing and then he thinks of poor Katie and hates Jones all the more.

It gets even worse when Jones obediently reports his injuries to his bosses at One resulting in another yelling match between Jack and Yvonne Hartman over his leadership capabilities.

But life goes on, he fools around with Gwen some more, Tosh falls in love with some alien bird and nearly gets them all killed, and it turns out she's been hearing all their thoughts over the past few days.

He and Gwen have wait to ask her what exactly she heard, because Mary's body is still cooling on the floor of the Hub, a bullet through the exact center of her forehead (Jones is nothing if not an efficient killer) and she's still in shock as Jack interrogates her in the conference room.

Finally, Jack exits and sweeps past them and they hesitantly enter the room, Gwen giving him a stern look, clearly saying _be nice or else_.

"Tosh," she says carefully, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Are you alright?"

She nods distractedly, tear streaks still on her cheeks. "Yeah."

There is a pause.

"Look," Owen says, but Gwen punches him the arm.

"We were just wondering..." Gwen says gently. "When did you have this...I don't know... ability?"

The look on her face tells it all and Owen inwardly curses, but before he can make sure, Jones enters the room and grabs a couple file folders on the far end of the conference table.

"Jones!" Tosh says suddenly as he turns to leave and he pauses, turning around to face her.

He doesn't seem at all worried about Tosh's ability, making Owen remember why he sometimes wonders if Jones is secretly an evil robot.

"You..." she says quietly. "Is work all you think about?"

Jones doesn't even hesitate, as if it's the same as any other question.

"Yes."

He looks between him, Gwen, and Tosh distastefully.

"Anything else?"

Tosh looks down at the table quickly, as if ashamed. She's been talking to Jones more since the disaster in the countryside, probably because the prat saved her life.

Jones leaves, and he and Gwen reluctantly turn back to Tosh.

Once it's obvious that Tosh knows about their little affair, Owen leaves Gwen to be all mushy and goes downstairs to get his jacket and go home.

"...did she mean?" Jones is asking Jack, busying himself with his bloody brilliant coffee that after tasting for the first time, they all made a pact to one, never let anyone else make coffee again, and two, never let Jones know.

"She said you smelled different," Jones continues. "She asked what you were."

Jack gives him a cold look. "That's hardly any of your business, is it?" he says.

His captain grabs his camp coat and makes for the exit, Jones watching him go suspiciously.

It seems like they barely get a reprieve after that, because then Suzie comes back to life, they kill her again, and then Owen meets Diane.

And Diane...Diane is wonderful, funny, sexy, and so far ahead of her time. She was wasted on the prudes in 1953, and for the first time in three and a half years Owen doesn't think of Katie while he's with another woman.

But then everything goes to shit, she leaves even though he begs her not to go, he ends it with Gwen, there's the whole debacle with the weevil, and he still can't grieve over Diane properly because then Torchwood One gets itself massacred.

Distress calls start coming in late on Thursday night, but before they can even figure out what's going on, Jack receives a call from UNIT telling him Torchwood One has fallen to an alien race called the Sycorax who wanted revenge on some past grievance that Owen remembers reading about two Christmases ago. As far as anyone can tell, Torchwood One brought down the Sycorax with them, and that appears to be the end of that, until Jack discovers some reference to "the Doctor" whoever that is and suddenly declares that they're all going to London to scavenge the remains of Torchwood One.

"Who the hell is "the Doctor" anyway?" Owen asks as they pack the SUV.

"You don't _know_?" Jones says incredulously, speaking for the first time in days. The shock of Torchwood One falling seems to have hit him pretty hard, Owen thinks cruelly.

Jones turns to Tosh and Gwen, both looking nonplussed.

"How do you not know who the _Doctor _is?" he asks. "He's mentioned in our foundation charter, after all."

"Really?" Gwen asks, looking curious. "What about him?"

"He's an alien. Torchwood's enemy," Jones says simply. "Enemy of the Crown is what's written in the charter."

"Well, not anymore," Jack says nastily, from behind them, depositing around metal case into the trunk.

Owen turns to stare at him in confusion. "How do you mean, not anymore?"

"Well, it seems we're the only ones left, besides Two, which really doesn't count," Jack explains coldly. He's been acting strangely too since he looked over the list of all the 800+ people that died, even though Jack has constantly wished Torchwood One's existence away.

"So now it appears I'm in charge," he says, turning to glare at Jones. Jones raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing, face still as pale as if was when they heard the news of the attack

"And the Doctor's not our enemy," Jack continues. "Never has been really."

"Jack!" Gwen exclaims, looking bewildered. "But this doctor alien was there! How do you know he didn't have anything to do with it?"

"Because I know _him_," he says, with an air of finality in his voice.

"But Torchwood was founded in 1879, wasn't it?" Tosh says and they all turn to her. "How was he even...I mean, what is he, immortal?"

Jack lets out a strange bark of laughter, mouth curving upwards in not quite amusement.

"Not exactly," he replies and refuses to say anything more on the subject.

Gwen stays behind to watch the Hub (mostly to keep that idiotic boyfriend of hers from being suspicious) and the rest of them pile into the SUV and drive three and a half hours to the wreckage that is all that remains of Torchwood One.

UNIT had removed all the bodies before Jack kicked them out, but there are blood stains everywhere and everything has been smashed to bits. Jack disappears as soon as they get there and while Tosh manages to scavenge what she finds useful, it all looks the same to Owen so he ends up wandering the empty halls with Jones, who is still more silent and pale than usual. Doubtfully because of the carnage before him though, Owen thinks privately, instead it's probably from the shock of the whole power structure of Torchwood being upended.

They're in one of the basements when Owen kicks open a door to find several long rooms filled with file cabinets that appear to be untouched.

"This is..."

"The archives," Jones says, entering the room and touching one of the file cabinets lightly. "Harkness'll probably want all this since the mainframe's fried."

"Lovely," Owen grumbles, imaging all the work that's ahead of them. "He better make UNIT ship it to us cos I'm pretty sure we don't have the funds for this."

Jones pulls at one of the drawers that had been left open a crack and pulls out a folder, flipping it open and wincing at the dried blood all over the pages.

"Well, this one's completely ruined," he says matter-of-factly.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Owen snarls, rage at Diane's loss and the brutality all around him pinpointing itself at Jones. "People _died_ here, show some bloody respect!"

Jones puts the folder down on top of the file cabinet, "People die everywhere," he tells him coldly, and it's times like these that Owen can't believe that Jones is only twenty-three. "Don't think these people are special just because they were killed by aliens. Everyone's the same in death. "

He turns around and walks toward the next room before Owen can retort, and he has no choice but to trail behind him, trying to avoid stepping in dried blood as he goes.

The next room is larger, appearing to be a library, filled with shelves and shelves of books and scrolls.

"Oh, it's still here," Jones says, sounding pleased. He walks purposefully over the fallen shelves and scattered books, and Owen follows him to the empty space in the center of the room, where there are several smashed reference computers and more blood stains.

Jones walks to the middle of the room and squats down slowly, placing his palm flat on the floor. Just staring at his han-no, staring at the spot beneath his hand. After what seems like a long time, he stands.

"I used to work here," Jones says suddenly. "My first job at Torchwood."

"What?" Owen says, despite himself. He only looked at Jones' file once and he was a bit preoccupied with the whole _girlfriend-killing_ matter to bother with Jones' pre-Field Agent job, after all.

"Junior Researcher," he says, as if the words are strange to him, but he's faced in the other direction so Owen can't see his expression, still staring down at the spot on the floor. "Four... almost five years ago."

"You were hired when you were _nineteen_?" Owen asks, shocked not only at the young age, but also that Jones was working for Torchwood before _he_ was. "What, you didn't go to university?"

"Not everyone can afford to get a higher education," Jones says frostily, picking up a book off the floor and flipping through it, turning sideways so that Owen can see his profile.

If it were anyone else, Owen would have felt at least a little bit ashamed, but it was Jones, the man who had murdered his girlfriend for his bloody job, and he refuses to concede the moral high ground to a man who obviously doesn't deserve it.

"I'm out of here," Owen says. "I've got better things to do than watch you reminisce about your old job as a pencil-pusher."

Jones doesn't protest, but follows him through the library to the next room, a contemplative look on his face.

They leave just a couple days later after cataloging all the useful equipment, books, and files for UNIT to ship them. Jack is the only one that brings back anything personally, a black bag filled with a strange looking gun, a pair of 3-D glasses, and a bunch of other strange instruments that Owen doesn't recognize and Jack won't let any of them near.

Jack is moody and irritable for the next few days and then he and Tosh get sucked into the Rift, end up in 1941, and Ianto bloody Jones is standing in the way of bringing them back.

"Don't you _dare_," he snarls, tightening his grip around the Rift key. "Don't you dare try and stop me, Jones, you bastard."

"Put. It. Down." Jones enunciates, gun pointed directly at his heart.

"You son of a bitch," Owen shouts. "They're stuck in fucking 1941! They'll die there and I know you don't fucking care, but I do! That rift took my lover and my captain and I'm going to get them back!"

"You _people_," Jones hisses, looking furious and determined. "You fall in love as often as you do laundry. Get over her, Harper. You knew her one bleeding week. She's gone, she left you, and she's not coming back. You don't know what kind of chaos you could bring on us if you open the Rift. We could all get sucked in. Is your week long shag worth it?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Owen bellows, too angry to be afraid of Jones now. "What do you know about anything? You're sick, Jones, you are. Last I checked, you murdered your girlfriend for a bloody promotion, so don't pretend you know anything about m-"

A shot goes off and Owen freezes, pain enveloping him. He gapes down at his shoulder and then back up at Jones again.

"You," he gasps, raw agony coursing through him. "What-"

But it's not over yet, so he lunges for the Rift Manipulator, key still in hand, but before he can get there another shot rings out and he screams in pain as his other shoulder burns in excruciating torment. He falls to the floor, key slipping out of his hand and watches numbly as Jones' standard issue black boots step down the stairs and approach him.

No, he thinks. No this is not how it's going to end. He will not give up, he will not let a vile, disgusting murderer who will never know love win. As Jones approaches, saying something that is too quiet for Owen to hear, he strikes. With the last of his strength, he scissors his legs, tripping Jones and lunges for the Rift Manipulator, forcing the key into place. Jones grabs him and throws him away onto the stairs, but it is too late, the machine start up and it is _done_.

Owen sobs in agony at the collision, Jones yells, "You idiot!" and then it all goes black.

When he wakes up, he's lying on the autopsy table and Jones is hovering over him, pressing plaster to his wounds.

"Motherfucker!" Owen manages to gasp out. "You filthy little-"

"Quiet," Jones snarls, "or I'll shoot you again, somewhere vital this time, like I ought to have the first time."

"Son of a whore," Owen replies, and then whimpers in pain as Jones presses a little too hard on his left shoulder.

"Owen, where's the painkillers?" Gwen says shakily, her pale, worried face swimming into view.

"My kit's on the...-ugh, fuck- it's on my desk, the outside pocket..."

Gwen head disappears from his sight and he hears her clambering up the stairs.

"You..." Owen gasps, "are so fucking fired. Your bosses got themselves annihilated, there's nothing going to save you from-"

"I'd be more worried about you," Jones says coolly."You broke rule number one here: you opened the Rift."

"Yeah, well-" Owen stops, realization dawning on him. "Jack, is he-"

"I'm right here," Jack's voice comes from above him, sounding displeased. "And I cannot believe I'm saying this, but Jones is right. You shouldn't have messed with the Rift."

"I did what I had to do," Owen hisses, furious that Jack isn't more grateful. "I saved your skin, dammit."

"For now," Jones says, and he hears Gwen coming down the stairs again. "Still no sign of Bilis, but make no mistake," Jones grabs his chin and forces Owen to look at him, "next time you try to open the Rift, I _will_ kill y-"

"That's enough," Jack interrupts and Jones lets go of Owen's chin, antipathy written all over his young face.

Gwen injects him with enough painkillers to make him forget that he had ever been shot and presently, Owen sits up and examines the bandages on his chest.

"Shouldn't we take him to the hospital?" he hears Tosh ask.

"I'm fine," Owen growls out, glaring at Jones. "This is the worst bandaging job I've ever seen."

"You'll get over it," Jones responds and exits the medical bay.

* * *

><p>"You won't shoot me," Gwen Cooper tells Jones, wildly, desperately. "Bilis was right, he said open the Rift and everything goes back to normal. Owen's right. I'm going to get Rhys back."<p>

"Get away from the computer, Gwen," Jack commands, but nothing on this Earth can make Gwen comply.

"Don't you dare try and order me around," she snarls. "Look who you've sided with, Jack Harkness!"

She waves her hand in Jones' direction. "Are you _really_ the same as _him_?"

Owen pushes in front of her protectively and she feels a surge of affection for him and Tosh behind them working to open the Rift because surely that will _save them all_ and Rhys, poor, wonderful Rhys will come back.

"This is a trap. All these cracks around the world, they're diversions," Jack says, _lies._ "This is what Bilis wants!"

"What are you afraid of, Jack?" Owen bites out.

"Oh, please," Jones snarls out viciously. "You're all fools. You all saw the visions, didn't you?"

Tosh's typing stops and Gwen blinks at Jones in surprise.

"What?" Jack says, looking between them, confused.

"They're a lie," he continues condescendingly. "You're so naïve, did you really believe them? They're Bilis' trick and you're falling for it like the morons you obviously all are."

"Shut up!" she screams at him.

"You're so blind," he hisses at them and every word is like a knife to her chest. "After all we've seen today, do you really think something_ good_ will come out of opening the Rift?"

"You don't know shit!" Owen yells.

Beside Jones, Jack suddenly draws his gun as well.

"I said," he says quiet and deadly ""Move.""

"What the hell are you doing?" Tosh asks angrily.

Gwen takes a deep breath, praying to any deity she can think of to let her find the words to convince Jack of what needs to be done. "C'mon, Jack," she whispers.

"So, you're a united front now?" Jack says maliciously. "Toshiko, the poor girl who'll screw any passing alien that gives her a pendant? And Owen, so strong, he gets in a cage with a Weevil, desperate to be mauled."

"Please," Gwen whispers, talking a shaky step forwards despite Jack and Jones' guns trained on her. "I've got to get Rhys back."

Jack lowers his gun briefly, mouth twisting in spite. "Yeah, cos you're so in love with Rhys that you spend half your time in Owen's bed."

Rage flashes across her vision and she's punching him before she even realizes what she's doing.

"Fuck you!" she shouts, eyes tearing up so much that she almost misses Owen picking up Jack's dropped gun.

"Don't move," Jones says quietly and then there's the press of the barrel of a handgun against her temple.

She freezes and Owen turns to point Jack's gun at him.

"Put it down!" he demands and Jones' lip curls in annoyance.

"Shit!" Tosh yells. "We need retina scans!"

Jack tries to get up and Owen shoves him down, pointing his gun back at their Captain.

"We," he shouts furiously. "We're relieving you of your command, "Captain". We're opening that rift and getting back what we lost!"

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you?" Jones says, gun still pressed against her head. "They're dead and opening the Rift won't bring them back!"

"I have," Gwen hisses, "to get him back. I don't expect you to understand."

"At what cost?" he laughs. "Do you know how many people could die? How many other people's boyfriends and girlfriends? You're not the center of the bloody universe!"

"Yeah, you'd know all about girlfriends, would you, Jones?" Owen says darkly and Jones shifts, deftly pointing his gun at Owen now, face contorted in anger.

"Owen," Jack says from the ground. "Put the gun down."

"Stay down!" Owen shouts at him, moving his gun back and forth between him and Jones.

"You're in charge, Owen?" Jack asks fiercely, standing. "You've gotta have significantly bigger balls!"

Owen opens fire. Gwen watches in horror as Jack falls backwards, dead.

"I'm sick of people doubting me!" Owen shouts, firing several more times.

The gun against her temple falls to the floor with a clatter.

"Wha-" Jones gasps beside her, voice suddenly high-pitched in shock. "What have you-"

She strikes before he can kill them all, kneeing him in the groin and punching him the face. He falls to his knees, but then tackles her to the ground and they struggle until suddenly there is a buzzing sound and Gwen scrambles away as Jones jerks around spastically, Tosh pressing a stun gun into his side. He slumps into unconsciousness on the floor and Gwen turns to look at Jack's body.

"Okay," Owen whispers, shaking and still holding onto the gun. "Let's go."

Hours later, they're all standing over Jack's body in the morgue.

"You're certain?" she whispers.

"He's cold," Owen replies, sounding as if something has gotten caught in his throat. "No vital signs."

"But," she starts, grasping at straws. "he survived when you shot him. When I first joined, he said he couldn't die."

"He was wrong."

"Brilliant," Jones snarls from the other side of Owen. "Great work. Just...just bloody brilliant."

He stalks off and Gwen barely represses a sob.

"I want to sit with him," she says because Jack cannot be dead, he just can't.

He wakes up three days later and the relief is like a cool drink in the desert. He thanks her, hugs Tosh, forgives Owen, even gives Jones a nod of acknowledgment, and everything is perfect.

And then he fucking leaves.

* * *

><p>It has been ten months, one week, and four days and there is no end in sight of Jack Harkness' torture. He has tried to escape six separate times to no avail and he is tired, so, so, tired.<p>

Gwen and Owen are dead. The Master gleefully showed Jack their final moments on a huge screen three months ago. Owen, so selfless and determined, he died saving a child, and Gwen, so beautiful and vicious as she let bullets pelt her body that were meant for Owen, screaming curses as she threw herself in danger's way. He hasn't heard anything about Tosh, or even Jones, and he lives in hope (as if he has a choice) that they, along with poor Martha, are still alive.

The boiler room is so hot, so hot all the time and the fumes are so thick that he can barely remember what a breath of fresh air tastes like, can barely remember what it is like to not have manacles confining his movement, relentless against his wrists. But he cannot break. For the Doctor, for Gwen, Owen, and Tosh, for Martha, and for poor Tish who brings him food every single day. He has been stabbed, shot, blown up, decapitated, flayed, burned, starved, drowned, beaten, electrocuted, strangled, crushed, mutilated, and poisoned, but he _will not break_.

Tish tells him the date every day, but still, time doesn't seem to function here the same way it did on Earth or all the hundreds of other planets he has visited. Even after living hundreds of years in Cardiff, time has never been so warped and strange.

And so, when he hears the sound of a muffled shot and the body of his guard crashing to the floor, he doesn't quite know how long it's been since his last escape attempt. He blinks blearily through the smoke as the gate opens a few seconds later and gapes as he realizes the identity of the figure that stands before him.

"Hullo, Jack," Jones says, smiling slightly as he approaches him.

"J-_Jones_?" he questions, looking him up and down in surprise.

He's wearing the most casual clothes he's ever seen him in, jeans and a dirty collared shirt, his hair slightly longer than Jack remembers. He has a rather nasty looking scar across his cheek that looks suspiciously like a Toclafane blade.

"_What_? H-How the hell did you get up here?" he manages to cough out as Jones pulls a bobby pin out of his pocket. He comes to stand right in front of him, so close he can smell the gun powder on his clothes. Jones reaches out to grab Jack's right manacle and start to mess with the lock.

"Stowed away on a supply ship," Jones explains with a satisfied smirk. "Security's getting really lax, I think you should complain."

Jack lets out a short laugh that even surprises himself. "I see you've picked up a few tricks since I last saw you."

Jones smiles, but keeps his eyes on his work. "Actually, I picked this up years ago, in my lawbreaking youth, of course."

"Jones," Jack blurts out, realizing what him being here really means. "Owen...Owen and Gwen are-"

"I know," Jones says, quietly, smile disappearing.

"Tosh!" Jack whispers frantically. "What about Toshiko?"

Jones pauses in his work for a split-second and it's the only sign that Jack needs. He inhales sharply and closes his eyes as he feels them begin to water.

"It was quick," Jones says quietly, looking him in eyes earnestly and then there is a soft click and Jack's right hand falls free.

"Good," Jack says seriously, gratefully. He twists his arm and wrist around experimentally, wincing at the stiffness.

"So, I'm the only one left," Jones says, and a self-deprecating smile graces his lips as he shifts over to work at Jack's left hand.

Jack has worked with Jones for two years and he's never seen him smile so much as he has in these past few minutes. It's shocking, how much he's changed in this past year. Jack remembers Gwen's last moments, the cold look on Tish's face. Everyone Jack's had contact with has hardened into cruel people he barely recognizes, but Jones, it appears, has actually _softened_.

"Incredibly ironic," Jones continues, breath ghosting over his left ear as he works, "if you think about it. I became a field agent to get myself killed, and what do I get? I'm the last bloody Torchwood agent on Earth."

"Jones-" Jack starts, shocked, but he's cut off by the sound of sirens and freezes.

"CONDITION RED!" a mechanical voice blares out. "CONDITION RED! INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS!"

"Fuck!" Jones curses, letting his hands fall and whirling around. He closes his eyes inhales deeply, fists clenching.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack hisses. "Run!"

Jones turns and give him another smile, a sad one this time, "It's too late, Jack."

"No!" Jack growls.

"It's over," Jones tells him, horrifically calm about his impending death. "I always knew it was the most likely outcome, but I had to try."

"They'll be here any second!" Jack shouts, struggling against his remaining manacle. "Get out of here!"

Jones shakes his head softly and Jack rushes as far forward as he can go, grabbing Jones' collar and pushing him back, "Run, you idiot!"

Jones pulls his hand off his collar and clenches it tightly. He reaches out to cup the side of Jack's face, leans in, and kisses him.

Jack makes a soft noise of surprise, but then shuts his eyes tightly, letting go of Jones' hand to wrap his free arm tightly around his neck, kissing him back desperately. He pulls Jones as close to him as is humanly possible, relishing the feel of Jones' arms around his waist, his chest and hips and mouth and tongue against his, tasting of metal and gunpowder and best of all, _life_.

But then there's the sound of shouting voices in the distance and the moment is over. Jones breaks the kiss, lips swollen, face flushed, and eyes-lids at half-mast, his forehead pressed to Jack's.

"Jack," he says softly, and the sound of Jones' low voice saying his given name, a clipped sort of sound with a Welsh tint, causes Jack to shiver.

Jones pulls away, taking a step back and then another.

"I'll be sure to take a few with me when I go," he says, God, _still_ smiling, and he pulls his firearm out of the back of his trousers. The shouting is louder now and Jack can hear the sound of several pairs of footsteps too, but all he can look at is Jones, "And I'm sorry, Jack."

He darts off to the side of the long and winding underbelly of the Valiant, just seconds before guards burst through the metal chain-link gate, nearly tripping over the body of their dead compatriot. The man in front looks up furiously to see Jack half-free and raises his gun.

"You stupid fuc-" and then there is a shot, pain, and everything goes black.

He wakes, right hand re-manacled, just in time to see Jones' bullet ridden body being dragged slowly across the floor.

Jack screams.

**A/N: So this is the first part of my crazy long Torchwood fic. I've actually already written it all, so I'm going to post a new part once a week. Obviously this is an AU, in addition to Ianto being a Torchwood One Agent, you'll also notice that the events of the Battle of Canary Wharf went differently (and later) than in canon. Also, while I'm using some of the background info and characters revealed in Children of Earth, let's just pretend the aliens decided to make drugs/human children illegal after the first go in 1965, shall we?**

**And as you can probably already tell, I'm not British and while I've tried to make the language and phrasing sound authentic, obviously I'm going to fail to a certain extent. Sorry!**

**Anyway, this is my first attempt at Torchwood fic, so I hope you like it and please review! Special thanks to my betas Resonance and d and Sleeping Soundly!  
><strong>


	2. Part II

Part II-

The ambulance has just left, and Jones is cleaning up the blowfish's body while Gwen administers retcon to the rest of the family in the back room.

"This is ridiculous," Jones says bad-temperedly, zipping up the body bag deftly. "This must be the most amateur operation in the history of Torchwood, _ever_. I can't believe you let it not only get away but also break into a house and _take a family hostage_. At least Harkness could _drive_."

"Bite me, Jones," Owen says irritably, picking up the other side of the body bag as they carry it to the SUV. "You really think you can do better?"

"I _know_ I can do better," Jones says arrogantly and Toshiko Sato rolls her eyes at Owen's furious look. Sometimes she thinks Jones says things like that on purpose just to get Owen to blow his lid.

"Can you get the bleach while you're out there?" she calls, eyeing the bloodstain on the cream colored carpet distastefully.

"Who do you think I am? Your maid?

"_I_ think you'd look fetching in a maid's outfit," Tosh shouts, grinning at Owen's yelp of disgust.

"Owen's wearing a maid outfit now?" a familiar voice comes from behind her. "I _have_ been gone a long time."

She whirls around and he hasn't changed a lick, smiling handsomely down at her, just as if he had never gone.

"Jack!" Gwen cries, gaping at him from the the other side of the room, frozen in the door-frame.

Tosh just mouths wordlessly and she hears Owen curse from outside and he and Jones, rush in, Jones with his gun at the ready.

"Jack?" Owen stares, momentarily surprised, before adapting his usual annoyed expression. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"You miss me?" he asks cheerfully, and Tosh rather wants to slap him.

Four months. Four _bloody_ months and he dares-

"Apparently not," Jack says, frowning at Jones' gun, which is pointed directly at his forehead. "You mind putting that down?"

"How do we know it's you?" Jones asks coolly, not relaxing for an instant.

Jack raises an eyebrow, "You wanna shoot me and find out?"

Jones scowls at this, but holsters his gun and Jack gives him a strange assessing look before turning towards the rest of them, smiling in a maddeningly aggravating way.

Owen asks Jack no less than forty-five questions on the way back to the Hub, all of which Jack deflects with a charming smile and a bit of flirtation. Tosh would be impressed if she weren't restraining herself from screaming at him. Gwen looks like she's in the same boat as well as Jones, through probably without the impressed part.

Jack seems surprised that Gwen has taken over as leader, more surprised by the fact that Jones actually listens to her by the way he keeps staring at him. It's a valid concern. When it became apparent that Jack wouldn't be back for a while (or ever) she, Owen, and Gwen had all worried at one point or another if Jones would just go back to his old, merciless ways and even if they themselves would be in danger. But Jones didn't blink an eye when Gwen starting giving orders, seemingly completely uninterested in being in charge. He was as cold and rude as ever, as well as randomly sarcastic, which always caught them off-guard, but he'd been loyal and a good worker, which was probably all they could expect from him.

Everything is awkward, and they all pretend to be extremely busy so they don't have to look at Jack, except for Jones who makes it even more awkward by making morbid jokes about alien blowfish sushi on his way to the morgue.

Jack stares at him on his way out in a way that might be considered sexual if Tosh didn't know any better, "What's up with him?" he asks, actually sounding curious.

This is apparently enough for Gwen, who takes the opportunity to shove him against the wall next to the door.

"You left us, Jack!" she accuses.

Jack sighs, "I know," he says simply. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't look it though, Tosh cannot help thinking.

"We knew _nothing, _Jack!" Gwen persists, furious still.

"Where were you?" Tosh asks, which to her is the most important question.

"I found my doctor," Jack says, smiling a bit.

"The Doctor or your doctor?" Owen asks. "Or are they the same person?"

"Same person," Jack clarifies with a nod.

"Your doctor is the same Doctor that was at the Battle of Canary Wharf?" Gwen asks, looking alarmed.

"Yup."

"Did he fix you then?" Owen asks impatiently.

This is the wrong question and some part of Jack seems to break before he's quickly laughing it off.

Then, just as they are getting real, hard answers, the Rift Alarm goes off.

"Bollocks," Tosh mutters under her breath. "Rift activity!"

"Jones!" Gwen shouts, leaning over the railing to yell into the basement. "Rift Activity!"

"No time for sushi then," he says in mock-disappointment when he climbs back up a few seconds later, only a little out of breath, "Did I miss anything important?"

"Er," Jack says, strangely awkward. "I'm back?"

Jones looks at him disdainfully. "So I see," he says. "Mind telling us when you pop off again because this lot was useless for _days_ after you left, and I'd rather like a warning so I know not to bother coming in to work."

"Oi!" Owen says angrily. "If you're quite finished, we have work to do."

Strangely enough, Jack looks insulted too, and Tosh would think about that more but then they're too busy for her to analyze it any further.

They find a dead body at on the street covered with fragments of rift energy, and it turns out the killer is an acquaintance of Jack's. He ditches them (sound familiar?) and they're forced to chase after him in a taxi only to find him in a trashed bar_ having a drink_.

"You've got a team! How sweet! Oh, pretty little friends! No blonde, though. You need a blonde," the killer, a short man with brown hair, says inanely.

"God, he's worse than Jack," Owen mutters from the opposite end of the room.

"Oh, do you have a team name?" the man continues, gleefully sarcastic. "I love team names, go on!"

"Torchwood," Jack says defiantly, apparently not on good as terms with the killer as she originally thought.

"Oh. Not Excalibur?" the man mocks. "Blizzard? Bikini Cops? No? Torchwood. Oh, dear."

"Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato," Jack starts, in the sort of voice that means he's trying to be professional and impressive, "Owen Harper, and Jones, meet..."

"Captain John Hart," he says in a tone that makes Tosh very much doubt it is his real name.

"We go back," Jack explains shortly.

"Excuse me," Hart says, displaying the first emotion besides scornful amusement. "We more than go back. We were partners."

"Yes, that's lovely," Jones says sarcastically. "You the one that shoved that bloke off the roof?"

"And if I was?" Hart asks challengingly.

"Then I'd say it was in my job description to kill you," Jones replies, and Hart raises his arm to point his gun right back at Jones so fast she barely sees it move.

"Woah, hey, hey, hey," Jack says, placing himself between the two men bracingly, his back to Hart. "Jones, put the gun down."

"Why?" Jones grits out. "He's a threat."

"I said," Jack commands. "Put. The gun. Down."

"Having leadership problems?" Hart mocks.

"Shut up, if you don't want to die," Jack tells him.

"Oh, please," Hart sighs, but doesn't take his eyes off Jones. "Sure, he's all ponced up like pro, but how old are you pretty-boy? Sixteen? Gorgeous, though," he continues appreciatively. "I see why you keep him 'round."

Jones looks disgusted.

"Jones," Jack says warningly.

"Section four, Subsection b, Roman numeral one," Jones raps off, "That's the part of the Torchwood Foundation Charter that necessitates the elimination of temporal threats."

"Pretty and smart," Hart says with a leer. "Next you'll be telling me he's viking in the sack. I don't suppose we can put this standoff on hold and go somewhere private, what do you say?"

"I would rather be eaten by a Hoix."

"Ah, well, had to try," Hart smirks. "Though if you kill me, you do realize you'll never find out where those radiation cluster bombs are."

"Radiation cluster?" Owen questions. "I don't like the sound of that."

Hart smiles, "Three canisters, contents beyond toxic, swallowed up in a riftstorm."

"And ended up here," she deduces, starting to feel cold.

"Why do you care?" Jack asks, reaching out to slowly push Jones' gun arm down.

"Dying woman's wish," Hart explains. "Promised her I'd go after them and all. Honor of my mother."

Jack doesn't look convinced.

"Do you think we're stupid?" Jones snarls, gun arm actively being held down by Jack now. "'Radiation cluster bombs?" Don't make me laugh."

"Can you really afford not to be sure?" Hart asks, and Jones scowls, but relents.

Later, of course, it turns out that Jones was right all along and that Hart's a traitorous bastard who she can't _believe_ she ever thought was cute, even for a second. Tosh reminds herself to listen to Jones more often as she presses her sweater to the bullet whole in his hip.

"I-fuck-fucking knew I should've killed him!" Jones rages incoherently, shaking violently with pain.

Her vision comes in spots before her eyes in the dim light, and she blinks several times before speaking.

"Don't worry," she tries to say soothingly. "Jack'll stop him."

Jones lets out an unconvinced snort, "Y-yeah, if he's not too busy thinking with his c-cock!"

"Tosh! Jones!" Owen's voice comes through the darkness and Tosh could cry with relief.

"Over here!" she screams. "Hurry, he's lost a lot of blood!"

Owen patches Jones up as best as he can and they find Gwen just barely in time to give her the antidote to the poison Hart forced on her.

They return to the Hub to confront him, and then everything goes more to hell than it already has. Gwen almost gets blown to pieces chained to John Hart, they get "temporally displaced" to the beginning of the night, and Tosh really didn't need to know that thing about the poodle. Jones tolerates Jack and Hart's weird flirting, probably mostly because he's in so much pain, but he balks when Jack decides to let him go.

"We are not letting him go," he hisses, gun raising again.

Hart lets out an exaggerated sigh, "Oh, Jonesy, Jonesy, Jonesy. You're pretty, but you really do have a one-track mind. Learn to, I dunno, _multitask, _or it gets rather boring after a while."

"Shut up!" Jones snarls, clearly not amused, though after being shot, Tosh imagines few things are.

"Jones, leave it," Jack says seriously.

"Oh, so it's perfectly fine that he just threw some random man off a building for no discernible reason? Or killed that woman?" Jones says furiously, gun trained on Hart carefully even though he's balanced precariously on one leg.

She has to admit he has a point.

"I just want him out of here," Jack says wearily. "Just be done with it."

"So he can go and kill someone else in another timezone? Become someone else's problem?" Jones persists.

"Can't help but what I am," Hart smiles nastily

Jack gives him a wary side glance, "You're really not helping your case here," he says casually.

"Right, like you'd really kill me," Hart scoffs confidently. "That might be who you used to be, Captain Jack Harkness or whatever you're calling yourself now, but it's certainly not you now. Besides, Eye Candy," he says turning to Jones. "Time Agents don't go down as easy as you think."

"Wanna bet?" Jones replies, "I've killed a Time Agent before, seemed as easy as anyone else."

Hart goes stiff. "Who?" he demands, serious all of the sudden.

"Don't know, don't care," Jones says, looking rather ruthless.

"Why did you kill him?" Jack asks suddenly.

"Because he was kidnapping children, molesting them, and then dropping them off at random points in the past," Jones growls. "For _fun_. Charming people you associate yourself with, Harkness."

"Ooh, sounds like ol' Welen," Hart says nostalgically, not bothered in the least. "Creepy as fuck, he was. Always wondered what happened to him."

Tosh turns to look at Jack, who is looking horrified. Apparently, he didn't know who this man was, or what he was doing. Unless it's an act...She feels sick and confused, unsure of whose side to take. Owen is glaring at Hart with undisguised disgust and on the other hand, Gwen is looking fearfully between Jack and Jones.

"So, you've decided you're going to kill me then," Hart says, sauntering towards Jones. "Why haven't you pulled the trigger, yet, then?"

Jones' face is angry, but he doesn't reply, frozen in motion.

"You're all talk," Hart says leaning in, his cheek against the barrel of Jones' firearm. "Though I do love it, brilliant vowels you got there. But you'll still have to work with these people tomorrow and if you shoot me without their approval, Jack over here will probably make things difficult for you, am I right?"

Jones makes a disgusted noise that is neither an affirmative or negative response.

"Or maybe," Hart continues, voice low and interested. "You're getting off on thi-"

A shot rings out and Jones screams with pain as Hart grabbed his bullet wound to screw up his aim. Jones topples over, but Hart catches him, looking extremely pleased.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he says predatorily, shamelessly groping him. "It's not everyday I have gorgeous young things falling into my arms."

He presses his fingers into Jones' wound again and Jones gives a shout of pain.

"Get off him!" Jack snaps, punching Hart squarely in the jaw and pulling Jones away from him.

Jones falls to his knees with a whimper and Hart laughs.

"So naïve," he murmurs. "I can see the appeal."

Jack gives him a disgusted look and grabs for his Webley.

"Alright, alright," Hart says defensively, pressing a button on his wrist strap. "I'm going, I'm going."

He walks backwards into the Rift. "Oh! By the way...I meant to tell you," he adds to Jack. "I found Gray."

Jack looks stunned and suddenly there are two shots in succession. Next to Jack, still on his knees with blood dripping down his trousers, Jones has pushed himself into a upright position, his firearm pointed directly at the Rift.

Tosh whirls back to the Rift to see if they hit Hart, but he's faded away almost completely and then he's gone.

"What the_ hell_ was that?" Jack asks him, livid, grabbing his shoulder and forcing Jones to look at him.

"A temporal threat," Jones gasps in pain.

"You could've killed him," Jack says furiously. "He might be dead! I fucking told you not to-"

Jones' eyes roll back up into his head and Jack grabs him before his head hits the pavement.

"Great," Jack says furiously. "Owen!"

"Jack," Gwen murmurs when they've all piled themselves into the SUV later on, Jones still unconscious and cushioned between her and Tosh in the middle seat, "Who's Gray?"

* * *

><p>They can't go back to the Hub and risk running into themselves, so Owen ends up having to "borrow" some more pain killers from the local hospital so Jones doesn't have an aneurysm trying to pretend he's not in pain when he wakes up.<p>

Despite the complete disaster the night turned out to be, Jack Harkness finds himself in a shockingly good mood. He's back in Cardiff, none of them have tried to kill him yet, and while it'll probably take a while for them to fully trust him again, he's confident he'll get there eventually. As long as he doesn't think too hard about Gray, everything will be fine.

Owen's flat is the closest and they're all too fagged out to do anything but crash there for a while.

"Who's for takeout?" Jack asks cheerfully after they dump a still unconscious Jones on Owen's leather sofa.

"Please," Gwen moans. "Anything, I'm bloody starving."

"You're paying, then," Owen replies, glaring at Jones, and picking up trash as he speaks.

"Your flat's really dirty, Owen," Tosh observes. "How do you live like this?"

"You could always leave," Owen says coldly. "There're chairs in the kitchen," he tells the rest of them "unless you want to stand around here and watch Jones ruin my sofa."

They migrate to Owen's sad excuse for a kitchen, and Jack steals his phone to ring for Thai.

"So," Gwen says a little while later after swallowing a mouthful of noodles, and Owen has entered the room, apparently having given up on making his flat acceptable. "You gonna tell us where you were?"

"End of the universe," Jack replies, surprised at how easily it comes. Of course, it's not the whole truth, but it'll have to do for now. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell anyone what really happened. He could barely talk to Martha and the Doctor about it. They were there, yes, but they can't possibly understand what he went through, not really.

Tosh, Owen, and Gwen stare at him.

"R-Really?" Tosh asks timidly, "The _end_ of the universe?"

"The universe has an end?" Gwen wants to know.

"Billions and billions of years from now," Jack says, leaning against Owen's kitchen counter next to the fridge, holding his box of takeaway more tightly than is probably necessary.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Gwen demands suddenly. "We didn't know anything! Couldn't you have just- I don't know-left us a note?"

"No time," he says, wishing more than anything to get off this subject, but knowing that they'll just keep asking questions if he doesn't answer them, "There was only a small window that I could leave in. I barely had enough time to grab my things."

"But it was all for nothing, though?" Owen asks insensitively, "Your doctor, you said he didn't fix you."

That hurts, Jack has to admit, but he knows it's not Owen's intention. He plasters a smile onto his face and shakes his head.

"Apparently so," he murmurs, trying to ignore that aching in his chest as he remembers the words: _Jack, you're wrong._

"What planet were you on?" Tosh asks curiously. "I mean, Earth would be long gone by then, so...Or were you in a space shi-?"

"Jack, think I can call Rhys now?" Gwen asks suddenly, unsubtly trying to divert to conversation away from his travels. She must have realized how uncomfortable their questions are making him and he gives her a small, grateful smile. Still, it's strange to be on the end of her highly vaunted compassion. He isn't sure he likes it.

Still, he's saved from making the obligatory rude remark about Rhys (God, he can't believe she's actually _marrying _him!) by Jones falling off the sofa in the other room with an embarrassing yelp.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he swears loudly, continuing with a long line of curses that Jack doesn't even know the meaning of, a feat in itself considering he's been living in Cardiff for over a hundred years.

They rush into the sitting room and Jones gives another surprised shout, his firearm trained on them expertly with one hand, the other clutching his injured hip.

"Good God, Jones," Owen says bad-temperedly, raising his hand. "Paranoid much?"

"Didn't we take away his gun?" Gwen mutters. "How many guns do you have on you anyway?"

"Three," Jones answers automatically. "Where the fuck am I?"

"My place," Owen snarls, prematurely defensive. "We have to avoid ourselves for the rest of the night, so we came here."

"Great," Jones grumbles, lowering his gun and glancing around the flat scornfully. "Just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse."

"You don't have to stay," Owen says, hackles rising. "If you don't like my decorating skills, piss off!"

"Owen," Jack says warningly, grabbing his shoulder.

"Surprisingly, I wasn't talking about your complete inability to clean up after yourself," Jones replies, voice full of contempt. "Rather the fact that I've been shot and now find myself on your floor with no trousers."

"Don't flatter yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch," Owen hisses, and Jack has to try very hard not to laugh.

"What time is it?" Jones asks rudely, using Owen's coffee table to slowly pull himself back onto the sofa, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on as he goes.

He's biting his lip in pain, sweating, cursing under his breath, vest undone, revealing his skintight under armor beneath and Jack can see every contour of his chest muscles. He wonders how it'd feel to run his hands his over pecs, all the way down to his briefs and-

He ruthlessly cuts off that train of thought before he gets too carried away. It's _Jones_, for God's sake!

"Quarter to four," Gwen answers. "What time do you reckon we disappeared at?"

"There were people out walking, so at least six," Tosh answers helpfully. "Better make it at least seven before Jack can go back to the Hub."

"Well, the rest of you can clear out though," Owen says nastily. "As long as you go right home you won't run into yourselves."

"You don't have to be so rude about it, Owen," Gwen says coldly.

"What, you got your food, haven't you," he replies. "Now, I'm knackered from being menaced by one of Jack's exes and running all around Cardiff, trying to save _your_ life. And, as was so eloquently put, Jones was just on my floor with no trousers, meaning I'll probably have to move to get rid myself of the memories."

Jones makes an amused sound, proving he is the twisted son of a bitch Jack has always privately thought he was.

Not to be outdone, Gwen sarcastically retorts to Owen's reasoning from kicking them all out, but Jack tunes her out, watching Jones instead as he shifts cumbersomely on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable being in a room with so many large windows. Just like any good soldier.

For probably the hundredth time since Jack got back, he mulls over that kiss, wondering why on Earth Jones did that. He sees practically nothing of him in this Jones, who is as cruel and professional as ever, but it's given him a reason to give him a second glance, wondering about his motives, his dark humor, and why he never realized what a _spectacular_ arse Jones has. He realizes now that he really doesn't know who Jones is, besides the information in his file, and he wants to know more, whatever the cost.

He watches Jones watch Gwen and Owen's exchange with vague amusement and then turns to Owen's med kit sitting on the coffee table. Casually, Jones reaches out and picks up one of the syringes Owen stole from the hospital, eying it matter-of-factly. Then, without warning, he pushes down the waist of his trousers and jabs the syringe into his hip in a way that Jack finds ridiculously hot.

"Oi!" Owen protests, distracted from his conversation with Gwen. "What the hell do you think you're playing at! You can't just stick that in there! What if you hit an artery!"

He pushes past Tosh and leans over the sofa to examine Jones' injury.

"Oh, get off," Jones says, batting his hands away. "I know what I'm doing. I have been shot in the hip before, you know," he pauses for a second, looking contemplative, "Other hip, though."

"How many times have you been shot?" Tosh asks, and Jones frowns, counting in his head.

"This makes number nine," he says decisively, and the rest of Jack's team gape at him.

"Why the hell aren't you dead?" Owen asks bluntly.

"_I became a field agent to get myself killed," _Jack hears Jones murmur in the back of his mind.

Jones smiles coldly.

"I'm lucky," he says simply.

A couple days later, Jack stumbles onto the strange scene of Owen on Tosh's computer.

"Tosh is going to kill you if you accidentally download another virus onto her computer," Jack says dryly.

Owen looks up, scowling, "I make _one_ mistake two years ago..." he says rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'm not on the internet, I was just looking at Jones' medical records from Torchwood One."

"Oh?" Jack says interestedly, coming over to look at the screen over Owen's shoulder.

"Looks like he was telling the truth," Owen says sourly. "He's really been shot _nine _times in the last five years. And considering this is the first time he's been shot here and he's been in Cardiff a little more than two..."

"Christ, what did he _do_ in London?" Jack exclaims.

"Unfortunately those records were destroyed in the Battle," Owen says, tapping his pen against the desk irritatingly. "But he's going to have major issues later in life. Look, shot in the thigh in March of '04, even with surgery that's _guaranteed_ arthritis. Shot twice in the back two months later, nearly bleed out and one of the bullets hit his right kidney." Owen brings up a colorful picture that looks like a CAT scan, but ultimately means nothing to Jack. "Completely fucked up now. Stabbed in the chest and his left lung collapsed. Broke his right arm in four places in January of '05. Shot again in the chest almost five months later, didn't hit anything vital though," Owen throws up his hands, "It just goes on and on!"

"He is really_, really_ lucky, he's not dead," Jack says, almost in wonder.

"Pity," Owen grouses, and Jack gives him a sharp look. "What, he's a prick!"

"You should know better than to joke about that, given what we deal with everyday," Jack says coldly.

Owen rolls his eyes and continues pissing around with Jones' file. Jack leaves him to it, a cold, uncomfortable feeling in his chest that wasn't there when he first walked into the room.

"Whoa..." Owen suddenly says, and despite himself, Jack turns back to look at the monitor again. "Jones' got a bit of a criminal record. Buried pretty deep in here, London wiped it after they hired him, but..."

"Shoplifting, shoplifting, more shoplifting," Jacks reads, eyes fixed to the screen.

"Intent to break and enter, whatever that means," Owen continues. "Mostly petty stuf-Oh, Hel-lo, assault charge."

"Where?" Jack demands, a slower reader than Owen (in English, anyway,) and the doctor clicks on it to see the details.

"Instigated a physical altercation with a Luke Brace in '97, fuck, how old was he? Fifteen? Never did any time though."

"Find out about him," Jack demands, the words _Actually, I picked this up years ago, in my lawbreaking youth, of course_ ringing in his ears.

"Who? Brace?" Owen asks, "Why do you want to know?"

"What's going on?" Gwen asks, and she and Tosh walks up the stairs to Tosh's work station.

"What are you doing on my computer?" Tosh asks warily.

"Looking up Jones' criminal record," Owen says, rolling his eyes at Tosh's reaction. "Wanna see?"

Both women lean over to look at the screen.

"Turns out he got arrested for thrashing some bloke when he was a teenager," Owen says, with a small amount of amusement.

"Look up the guy he beat up," Jack orders.

"Wait," Gwen protests. "I'm still reading the-"

"Just do it," Jack demands roughly, and Owen grumbles, but complies.

"Born August 17th , 1970 in Canton, divorced in '94 and-" Owen pauses. "Bloody hell, he's got a criminal record too, identity theft, petty larceny, grand theft auto, assault, sexual assault, domestic abuse," Owen's face twists in disgust. "He's doing time in Swansea for the last three."

He lets go of the mouse and looks up at Jack. "Well, at least he went after someone who deserved it."

"Where is Jones anyway?" Tosh asks worriedly, looking behind them as if she expects him to pop up out of nowhere.

"Downstairs in the archives," Gwen replies, looking down at the monitor worriedly.

"Well, better close the window before he comes back up," Jack warns and leaves them all to marvel over Jones' murky past, uncomfortable feeling in his chest still very much present.

"You've gotten better at that," Jones tells him a couple weeks later as he exits the interview room after interrogating Beth Halloran, leaning casually on the railing. "'Just us and this room for as long as it takes?' It's a good line."

Jack scowls at him. He doesn't need to be told he's good at interrogating prisoners by _Jones_.

"I _have_ been doing this awhile," he replies darkly.

"Been doing it _badly_," Jones says, looking at him suspiciously. "Always too much anger. What, did you pick up some tricks on that little sojourn of yours?"

Jack feels all the color drain out of his face, registering Jones' searching gaze, and feeling the sudden urge to be sick. That and shove Jones over the railing.

"Why?" he bites out, desperate to shift the conversation away from himself, "Is that what you would have said?"

Jones gives a cold laugh. "I think I've got better lines than that," he says, pushing himself off the railing.

"Mind you," he says, turning back right on the threshold of his office, giving Jack an unsettling once over. "If you're going to pretend that everything's normal, you should really stop being so obvious."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Jack says angrily, careful to keep his voice low so Tosh and Owen won't hear. "What do _you_ think you know?"

"You were tortured," Jones says casually, in the same tone of voice he would use to tell a stranger that their shoelaces are untied. "A lot."

Jack opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, wanting to deny it, wanting to say something cruel that will put Jones in his place, but draws a blank. And before Jack can think of a suitable reply, Jones is already halfway down the hallway.

Jack watches him go with fury. He almost forgot how much he hated Jones. Stupid, annoyingly perceptive Jones with his guns and his scars and Jack would like nothing more than to shove him down the stairs. Kick him down into his room, handcuff him to the headboard, rip off that stupid vest and under armour shirt and get his hands and mouth all over his scarred torso. Lave his tongue all over those bullet scars, bite his nipples just to be irritating, get him swearing, sweating, and moaning, and then he'd fuck him until Jones begged for release. Jack can see him in his mind's eye already, his head titled back, eyes closed, gorgeous mouth whimpering and gasping, jerking against the cuffs, helpless and pleadi-

"Jack?" Tosh asks, she and Owen giving him strange looks from their work on the other side of his office.

"What?" he says, startled, "Oh, right. Anything on the body scan?"

Later, as usual, everything falls apart. Beth turns out to be and alien infiltrator sent to spy on Earth, eventually activate, and take over the planet. They barely manage to stop the impending invasion (quite dashingly, if he does say so himself) and return to the Hub.

"Everything fine here?" Jack asks, Gwen helping Beth slowly up the stairs.

Owen and Tosh both look a little shaken from what they've found out. Jones just looks irritated. (Surprise, surprise.)

"Yeah, we're fine, Jack," Owen says, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You might be fine," Jones says darkly. "I've been scarred for life, I have."

They all give him a strange look.

"You might have been out saving the world from alien invasion," Jones explains, completely serious. "But we," he gestures between him and Tosh, "were just propositioned by Harper here. I doubt the nightmares will ever cease."

"Oh, fuck you, Jones," Owen scowls at him, while Jack tries hard not to laugh. "End of the world, I thought."

"And when I said the end of the world couldn't get any worse, I meant that _literally_," Jones retorts.

Jones and Owen are still exchanging insults while Tosh works on the cryogenics program and when Beth shoves Gwen out into the Hub, alien blade at her throat.

They plead with her, try to get her to see reason, but Beth has made up her mind and they have no choice but to shoot her. Three shots ring out and Beth will not move again.

"She wanted you to shoot her!" Gwen says furiously next to her body, almost in tears. "She used her last shred of humanity to do this."

"We couldn't take that chance," Owen murmurs. "She must have known that."

"She did," Jack confirms, looking regretfully down at Beth's body. "She just wanted to make it eas-"

He stops, counts the bullet holes again, and turns around, very slowly, to where Jones is standing all the way at the back. He is gun is not even out and he is very, very pale, eyes fixed on Beth.

Jacks files this away in the back of his mind as another thing about Jones that does not make sense.

He tries to ignore Jones, to think about him no more than he did before The Year That Never Was, but it turns out to be nearly impossible. It's ridiculous, pining over a man that doesn't even exist and probably never will. It took an apocalypse for Jones to act like a human being and Jack's not going to let another one of those happen, not on his watch.

But it doesn't...it just doesn't make any _sense_. He finds it utterly impossible to reconcile the cruel man who's worked under him for two and a half years, the man who murdered his lover in cold-blood, with the Jones who gave his life to free him and kissed him in a way that still haunts Jack's dreams. Sometimes he wonders if he hallucinated the entire encounter, but even _his_ imagination isn't creative enough to come up with a scenario like that. He knows people can change, he himself is a perfect example, but...but...he just wishes Jones would change already, even though he knows it's probably never going to happen.

He sees no indication that Jones plans on changing his ways, or even that he regrets any of his actions, but some part of him, an incredibly irrational part that believes just as strongly as Gwen does in the good of humanity, keeps watching him, just in case.

* * *

><p>"Right, everyone here?" Owen Harper asks, looking around the Hub. "Where's Jones?"<p>

"Writing up the paperwork on the space whale in the archives," Gwen says, looking at Owen curiously. "I can pop down and get him if you-"

"No, him not being here is sort of the point," Owen says decisively. "Look," he continues, turning towards Jack. "Jones needs to go."

"What?" Tosh says, looking a little worried. Owen resists the urge to roll her eyes. Just because he saved her life that one time last year doesn't mean she has to act all defensive.

"It's not like there's anything keeping him here," he explains. "London is gone and they were the only reason he came here anyway. It's not like any of us wanted him here in the first place."

"True," Jack says, but Owen gets the feeling that somehow Jack isn't as amenable to his idea as he thought he'd be.

"And he shot those two blokes at the warehouse too," Owen adds. "He's dangerous, Jack. We've been busy since London fell, but now we need to get rid of him. We can hire someone else if you're worried about shortages."

"He didn't kill them," Tosh protests. "Look, I know he's not very...well, _nice_, but what're you going to do? Retcon the last five and a half years of his life?"

"If I have to," Owen says determinedly. "Gwen? Jack?"

Gwen bites her lip nervously. "I agree with you, Owen, I really do," she says slowly. "He's an awful person who probably should be locked up, but..."

Owen's heart falls, "But?"

"We need him, Owen," she says apologetically. "We would be dead two times over without him, especially in those four months when Jack..."

She trails off, giving Jack a dirty look. She and Jack haven't been on good terms since he tried to get her to retcon her moronic fiancé.

"And you?" he says, turning to Jack. "You agree with her too?"

Jack frowns. "I don't see that we have much of a choice," he says, careful for reasons Owen can't quite make out. "Gwen's right."

Owen curses, but before he can tell them that they're all idiots, the Rift alarm goes off.

"Jones!" Gwen shouts, running to the railing.

"Coming!" he answers and then they're off.

"Where're we going, Toshiko?" Jack asks, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel in annoyance at a stoplight.

"Western Cardiff, a bit beyond city limits," she says distractedly, eyes fixed on her scanner. "Cromwell Estate, it looks like."

"Oh, that's a pretty bad area, innit?" Gwen asks. "We always heard a lot of robberies being reported."

"Speaking of, reports of police on the scene," Tosh says. "There's been a murder apparently."

"Do you really have to be going this slow?" Jones asks abruptly from the back. "We have the lights for a reason, you know."

"Stuff it, Jones," Owen says, still annoyed that he's going to be working with Jones a lot longer than he expected.

It takes them about half an hour with traffic to get to Cromwell Estate and by the time they do, police cars are everywhere and and they have to park the SUV further away from the scene than Owen would like.

"Oh, it doesn't look so bad, does it?" Gwen mutters to Tosh as they walk past a long line of identical townhouses, pulling out their gear as they go.

"Excuse me," Jack says rudely, coming up to the constables who have cordoned off the middle of the street where the body lies and are actively guarding the scene from several score of curious onlookers. "I'm going to need you and the forensics in there all to move back. We're Torchwood."

He flashes his ID, but the constable looks nonplussed, "Who? What the hell is Torchwood?"

"Listen, mate," Gwen says kindly, elbowing Jack out of the way. "We're special ops. We need to look at the body."

"Oh, please, 'ow old do you think I am?" the constable says scornfully. "I've never heard of Torchwood before. And you lot, you're not even in uniform-"

"What's going on here?" another constable asks, coming up behind the first fellow.

"These lot say they're some special ops outfit-was what it-"

"Torchwood," Jack supplies irritatedly.

"Yeah, and I said-"

"Idiot!" the older constable hisses, pushing his companion out of the way and pulling up the yellow CAUTION tape. "Sorry about Hier here, sir, he's new, right this way."

"What the-" the younger constable says, looking bewildered as they pass him.

Beside Owen, Gwen smiles a little wistfully.

"That used to be me," she says as they approach the body. "I remember being so angry that you just shoved your way through us like-bleeding hell, what happened to him?"

The body, an older man, probably in his 60s or 70s, has had his entire torso ripped open, organs pushed aside and his clothes utterly soaked in his own blood.

"Oh, god," Tosh says, horrified, looking like she's going to throw up. Gwen looks the same and even Jack has a peculiar green expression on his face. Jones does not look at all fazed. One day Owen will get over the shock.

"If you're going to be sick, please wait until after we get it back to the Hub," Owen says snidely. "It'll be pretty embarrassing otherwise."

"It can't be human," Gwen says, gagging a bit.

"Yeah, remember the last time you said that? We got cannibals."

"Right," Jack orders. "Owen give the body a quick look, but we're going to have to take it back to the Hub, and soon. Tosh, see if you can find anything on your scanner and then help Owen wrap it up. Jones, back the SUV up here so we can lift the body into back and Gwen, ask what the PCs found and see if any of the locals know anything."

Gwen darts off, pleased to be away from the body and goes to talk to the coppers who have been standing by watching them mutinously. She immediately starts asking them if they know the man's name, like that matters.

Owen rolls his eyes and looks down to examine the body more carefully.

"He hasn't been dead long," he catalogues aloud. "No surprise as he was killed in the middle of the bloody street. Half an hour? That coincides with the Rift. Thing must've had considerable strength to rip through muscle and bone, in one go, it looks like. Didn't look like it took anything, though."

He prods around inside the dead guy's chest and abdomen a bit, smirking at Tosh's sharp inhale.

"As far as I can tell, nothing's missing or been damaged on the inside. Anything on your end?"

Tosh shakes her head, "No alien residue or anything out of the ordinary detected," she says shakily. "But it just could mean we might not have seen it before or it's hiding. Didn't work on Beth."

"Right," he says, dusting off his hands and moving to stand. "Jones has brought the SUV around, let's get it into a body bag."

Gwen returns as they're lifting it into the back, looking disgruntled.

"They wouldn't tell me anything," she says crossly.

"Of course, they wouldn't," Owen says, rolling his eyes. "It's an estate, Gwen, they probably think you're trying to arrest them all."

Jones gives him a sour look, but then they're suddenly interrupted by a heavyset man wearing a rugby shirt.

"Oi," he shouts at Jones, having pushed himself all the way to tape. "Aren't you Johnny Davies' brother-in-law?"

"Yup," Jones replies, looking uncomfortable as they all turn to stare at him. "Sorry, I don't recall..."

"Simon Ashton," the man replies, looking a little insulted. "Ianto, was it?"

"Right," Jones says, striding forward and blocking the man from their view sightly, and Owen is confused for a second until he remembers that Ianto is Jones' first name.

"Cor, I didn't know you were a copper," the man continues, looking up and down at Jones' clothes in awe.

"Security actually," Jones mutters, turning his head and giving it slight jerk in their direction, clearly stating _Move along, now, please._

"You get your own piece and everything?" Ashton continues as they finish putting the body in the SUV.

To Owen's surprise, Jones continues the conversation quite cordially, cleverly avoiding questions about his job and the crime scene, and instead inquires casually about the victim.

"Sorry, got to run," Jones says once he's gotten enough information.

"Say hello to your sister for me," Ashton replies, but watches Jones suspiciously as he gets into the SUV, and they drive away.

"Name is Cecil Adams, lived just down the road. His wife died in '02 and he's been living alone since then," Jones says stiffly. "He took walks every afternoon, one of which he was probably on when the Rift opened." He pauses for a few seconds. "I didn't know the Rift spread out this far."

Jones doesn't know something? And he actually admits it? Impossible! Owen thinks sarcastically.

"It only happens this far out once every couple decades," Jack explains. "At least in my experience. But it's been opened twice in the past few months, so who knows?"

He eyes Jones strangely through the rear-view mirror for a few seconds, as if he's about to say something else, before turning his focus back on the road.

None of them question Jones about the Ashton fellow, and he doesn't offer up anything himself. Owen admits that he's vaguely curious, because really, out of all the random people Jones could know, but not nearly enough to bother asking about it.

They get the body on the autopsy table, and Gwen, Tosh, and Jack soon vacate the premises, leaving Jones to lean over the railing above the medical bay and watch him creepily.

"Do you _mind_?" he says loudly.

"Can't perform under pressure?" Jones deadpans.

"Bugger off," Owen mutters.

"Looks deliberate," Jones says, ignoring his oh-so-polite request.

"How do you mean?" Owen asks before he can stop himself.

"Clean cut, all in a straight line."

"I don't see the point, though," Owen says, making a slide of some skin cells right on the edge of the intact skin, just in case there's some residue that Tosh's scanner missed. "Why cut open the entire body and not take anything?"

"If it came through the Rift, it might not have encountered humans before," Jones says reasonably. "Maybe it was confused. Or curious."

"Or maybe it's just an evil, murdering, alien," Owen scowls, increasing the magnification on his microscope. "Woah, here we are then!"

"What is it?" Jones says quickly.

"Residue on the wound. Definitely not of earthly origin." He pulls off his gloves distractedly. "Nothing I've ever seen before though. Better run it through the computer just to make sure."

"Wouldn't Sato's scanner have picked it up, then?"

Owen pauses midway up the stairs. "Oh. Yes. Dammit."

He glares at Jones just because and then jumps back down to the floor. "Right. More poking around, I suppose."

"Right up your alley then."

"You're more sarcastic than usual today," Owen observes irritatedly. "Did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed?" he continues mockingly.

Jones gives him a disdainful look, not even bothering to reply in a way that Owen recognizes as one of the reasons he will hate his guts forever.

"Owen!" Jack shouts a few breakthrough-less hours later. "Leave it. We've done all we can here."

"Fine, fine," he says wearily, too frustrated with his failure to identify the alien residue to argue. "Drinks?"

"The Terra Nova this time. We'll leave you behind if you don't hurry up!" Gwen yells from the other side of the Hub.

"Jones, you too," Jack says impatiently and for one horrible second Owen thinks he's inviting _him_ out as well. "Go home and do whatever you do for fun."

Jones looks annoyed, aptly conveying his disapproval at leaving the Hub empty, or perhaps at the way Owen has just haphazardly covered the body with a plastic sheet, or, as is more likely, both. But he's been in Cardiff long enough to be used to it all, and so he doesn't protest.

"Come on now, you first," Gwen jokes to Jones who's still on the main floor grabbing his bag. "Can't have you skulking around here unsupervised, God knows what you'll try to organize next."

There's a flapping noise from the opposite end of the room and Jones freezes halfway down the stairs, hand going for one of his firearms.

"What was that?" he asks warily.

"Uh, the pterodactyl?" Jack says impatiently. "We have really got to come up with a name for it, don't we?"

"You really are that paranoid, aren't you?" Owen sighs, shaking his head. "You really need to lighte-"

The, without warning, the bio-hazard alarm goes off.

"Oh, not again!" Gwen moans, rolling her eyes, making for the stairs to check the machine.

"I thought you fixed the bloody thing so it wouldn't go off whenever we brought anything alien back," Owen shouts, turning towards Tosh. "Doesn't even work properly, stupid thing. That body's been sitting on the table for..." he trails off, realizing the implications of this, but before he can come to any conclusions, Jones is shoving Gwen out of the gate and into him and Jack. They all tumble into the (secret) passage with a flurry of angry shouts and by the time he gets to his feet, the cog door is rolling shut, deadlocking into place.

The Hub has gone into lockdown.

"Jones!" Jack roars, pounding at the door, "Open this up right now!"

"And risk infecting the rest of you lot?" Jones says over his comm, "No thanks."

Owen sees Jones approaches the tiny window in the cog door.

Jack smashes his shoulder against the solid steel ineffectually, growling.

"Sorry, sir," he says over the comm, lips curving into a smile that just seems plain _wrong_ on Jones' face.

His body stiffens then and he brings his left hand up in a formal salute, eyes locked with Jack's.

"Jones!" Jack shouts as he turns and disappears from Owen's view. "Don't you _dare_, Jones! Come back here right this instant or I swear I'll sack you!"

"What do we do?" Gwen asks frantically, turning towards Tosh. "Can you-Can you open it up?"

There is a series of three gunshots and they all freeze.

"What's going on in there?" Tosh cries, pushing him and Gwen aside to stand at the window with Jack.

"I can't see anything!" Jack snarls, slamming his fist against the door and then wincing. "JONES!"

"Tosh!" Gwen yells.

"I can't do anything!" she grits out between clenched teeth. "Everything's inside! I can't open it from the outside."

"Isn't there a backdoor of some kind?" Gwen asks. "Some program in place for scenarios like this?"

"It's never exactly been a problem before," Owen snarls, pacing back and forth down the small hallway. "Great, we've been locked in our base and now we're locked out, what'll happen next?"

"Open. This. Door. Now!" Jack shouts furiously, apparently not taking being locked out of the Hub well. "Dammit, he's taken off his earpiece!"

There's a loud crash from the inside and Jack swears in three different languages, and then some Owen doesn't even recognize.

"What about the lift?" Gwen suggests desperately. "Could we- I don't know-get in through there somehow?"

"It's the same width as this door," Tosh replies, standing on her toes trying to see through the window, "The entire Torchwood Three is surrounded by three feet of solid steel."

Another crash, louder than the last one.

"Jones! Son of a bitch!" Jack bellows, and suddenly it comes to Owen that if he finally gets Jones out of his hair because the man locked himself in the Hub after shoving Gwen out of danger's way and dies, he's going to be really, _really _angry.

There are two more gunshots and then everything is quiet.

"Shit," Tosh is whispering under her breath, she and Jack practically plastered to the door. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Then, as suddenly as it closed, the cog door rolls open and Jack and Tosh have to jump back to avoid being dragged along and crushed.

"Jones!" Jack shouts, barreling through the gate without a second's thought. He runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Owen right at his heels.

Jones is hunched over Tosh's workstation, hand still on the button that reversed the lockdown, bleeding profusely all over her chair.

"Over...there," he says very slowly, pointing shakily. "Was inside the body. Must've hid. It had some sort of chameleon abil-"

He crumples forwards and Jack grabs him before he hits the desk and eases him onto his back slowly, hands cradling Jones' head.

"Fuck, Jones, stay with me," Jack murmurs. "Okay, stay with me. Owen!"

There are three huge slashes in his vest and under armour, blood oozing out of them and Jones is deathly pale.

Owen runs to get his med kit, nearly tripping over the body of the dead alien Tosh and Gwen are gaping at. It's sort of bird-shaped, with scythe like blades for wings, almost transparent in death, but Owen can't focus on that now. He rushes down the stairs to the medical bay where Adams' body has fallen off the autopsy table to the floor to get his kit. The entire bay has been trashed and he can't find it at first, but eventually he locates it and scrambles back up the stairs to the main room.

Jones inhales sharply when Owen peals away the shreds of his vest and shirt to dabs the slashes beneath, hands scrambling on the chain-link floor. Jack grabs his right hand, bending his arm at the elbow and squeezes it tightly.

"You ever do that again," Jack growls, Jones' head, neck, and upper back basically in his lap now. "I'm really going to fire you."

"R-Right," Jones gasps as Owen puts pressure on the largest slash, unwinding a roll of gauze with one hand.

He inhales sharply with every breath, grimacing silently in pain, like Gwen had on that table kitchen table in the countryside, gripping Jack's hand back tightly.

Owen gets out a syringe and Jones gives a pained groan and his body jerks as Owen injects him with it.

He's not sure how long they sit there, slowly stitching up Jones' wounds while he shakes silently in pain, biting his lip, but eventually Jones passes out, head lolling back onto Jack's thigh.

"We cleaned up the mess," Gwen tells Jack presently, she and Tosh coming up the stairs to stare at Jones. "The alien's on the autopsy table with the body."

"What about the bio-hazard alarm?" Jack asks, not looking up at them. "Are we in any danger of infection?"

"It's always a possibility," Tosh says, "But it's like Owen said, it doesn't work on alien substances properly. We'll have to do some tests on the alien in any case."

Owen stands up after finishing pressing bandages over the stitches, flexing his muscles to get rid of the soreness.

He's always known that Jones was young and he's seen him unconscious before, but somehow, looking down at him, shirtless, hand still grasping Jack's, he looks ridiculously childlike. Gwen seems to be of the same mind.

"Christ, what age is he again?" she asks incredulously.

"Twenty-nine?" Jack guesses, looking up at them for the first time. "Twenty-eight?"

"Try twenty-four," Tosh says dryly and Gwen looks shocked, undoubtedly remembering what she was doing when she was twenty-four.

"He needs rest, proper rest," Owen says professionally, not really wanting to discuss the strange turn of fate that had Jones become a seasoned killer before he was even done with clinical training at the teaching hospital, "But I don't suggest moving him far. You got a bed downstairs, right, Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack says distractedly, helping Owen lift Jones, "It's over this way."

They dump Jones downstairs onto Jack's camp bed (camp in both meanings of the word, because honestly, did the man _really _need scarlet sheets?) and he groans a couple curse words under his breath, sweat running down his brow, but ultimately does not wake.

"Just need the handcuffs, then," Jack mutters under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," Owen replies, a bit too busy checking to see if any of the stitches tore.

"It's nothing," Jack says and then they climb back up to the Hub.

"Don't really feel like drinks now, I suppose," Tosh says as soon as they get back.

"I'm knackered," Gwen says, certainly sounding like it. "I think I'll just go home."

"I'm with you as soon as I stick the bodies in the freezer," Owen says. "Just in case there are any more surprises."

Jack nods and after fifteen minutes they all walk out to drive home, still slightly shaken.

* * *

><p>Ianto Jones is not pleased. He has looked on every CCTV camera both inside and outside of the Hub, but he still cannot find out what happened. Two days of his life are gone. Two days of all their lives. Ianto might not have even noticed, but when he woke up with ripped stitches and strange bruises he does not remember getting, he started to panic.<p>

Retcon is gone from supplies and all the cameras have been wiped, so it seems like an inside job, but why would they take retcon on purpose? What horrible thing could have happened that _he _would _willingly_ forget?

Ianto does not forget, he remembers, he _always _remembers. Even the most awful, degrading experiences of his life, he _always _remembers. It is painful, so, _so_ painful, all the time, but it is better than forgetting who he really is and living a lie.

The others don't seem as worried about it as he does. Initially, they all searched the Hub for clues once they realized what had happened, but after it became apparent that nothing was stolen or broken, they quickly lost interest. Jack aside, sometime Ianto wonders why they're still even _alive, _they're so careless.

Unfortunately, halfway through his investigation Jack notices his ripped stitches and makes a big fuss, ordering him home for a couple days to rest after Owen patches him up again. Ianto unwillingly complies, spends those few days cleaning his already pristine flat out of sheer _boredom_, and immediately runs into an unknown woman the second he comes back into work.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" he bites out, gun at the ready, shocked by the audacity of the formally dressed woman, as if she expected to just _blend in_.

"That's my question!" she says, raising her hands, but otherwise not looking particularly scared.

"Jones!" Jack says loudly, coming down the stairs from his office and they both look at him. "Not you," he tells the woman before turning towards him with a cold look, "Put the gun down, she's UNIT."

Ianto holsters his gun, still not completely reassured. He's clashed with UNIT before, finding them arrogant and overly confident about their importance in the alien research field. Torchwood One was ruthless and needlessly aggressive, but at least they mostly knew what they were talking about.

"This is Martha Jones, she's a Medical Officer helping us with case involving pharmaceutical company using alie-what are you doing back here?"

Ianto gives him a sharp look. "You said to take off a few days. I took off a few days."

"Oh," Jack says, confused and a little distracted.

Of course he forgot, Ianto thinks and tries not to feel insulted. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"A pharmaceutical company using alien what?" he asks curiously, eager to move on.

"It's this company called Pharm," the woman, Martha, explains. She seems strangely unruffled by the fact that he was just pointing a gun at her, "They're doing human experiments using this alien larva that incubates in human bodies."

She smiles at him, and it throws him off for a second. It had been so, _so_ long since someone smiled at him.

"What's your first name?" she asks, friendlily extending her hand. "It's a bit weird calling you Jones, you know."

"Ianto," he replies, shaking her hand firmly.

"Pleased to meet you," she says, smiling, and strangely enough, he thinks she means it.

He almost regrets it when he goes into the Archives to clean up the total mess the rest of them have made of the place and comes out to feel her horrified stare on him.

Martha ends up going into the Pharm undercover as a clinical volunteer, a ruse which lasts about a couple hours until she gets herself caught. Jack is frantic with worry, making Ianto wonder if Martha is another one in his long line of lovers, and then berates himself for the feeling of vague jealously.

They catch Billy Davis, but he turns out to be useless after Owen blows him up with his so-called singularity scalpel. Tosh, however, finds ways of working around the minor complication of well, him being dead and Ianto quite enjoys the insulted look on her face when he tells her she's warped on the inside.

They rescue Martha, shut down the testing facility and are just about to leave when Aaron Copley decides to have his revenge, best served steaming.

"I know you don't want to shoot," Owen says carefully, but he's wrong, it's a lie. Ianto would've shot him the second he pointed a gun at them, should've shot him, but Jack would've murdered him. It's too late now, Ianto can see it on Copley's face. Unlike the others, Ianto has had a lot of experience facing down _people_ with guns, and he knows when they will shoot and when they will not. Copley is going to shoot, any second now, so Ianto does what he has to, what makes sense, what he took this bloody job for it the first place and very, very gracefully, _slides_ just slightly in front of Owen.

Then, like time has slowed, he hears the shot and then there's pain in his chest, he can actually _feel _his ribs breaking, and he nearly falls backward with the force of the bullet. He should've fallen, but Ianto Jones has been shot before-this is lucky number ten-so he manages to smirk spitefully at Copley and raise his gun halfway before he drops to his knees, the world spinning lazily around him.

Then time is back to normal again, he hears shouting, another shot, and Martha and Owen's indistinct shapes are hovering over him worriedly. But more than anything else, he feels the pain, and so when the darkness comes, he welcomes it.

* * *

><p>Rhiannon Davies eyes the red sauce stained t-shirt mournfully, throwing down the bleach soaked rag in defeat. David's favorite shirt or not, it was going in the bin.<p>

There is a crash from upstairs, and she groans, coming out of the laundry room wearily.

"Oi, you lot!" she yells up the stairs. "I told you before and I'm not telling you again, if you want to mess about, go outside!"

"But it's raining outside, Mum!"

"Then stop mucking about!" she snaps bad-temperedly.

"Mum!" David wails, "Mica stole my truck!"

"Did not!"

"Mica, give it back or I swear to God I won't let you watch telly for at least a fortnight!"

There's no response, so she goes back into the laundry room to wash out the rag.

"Mum," David cries again.

"Mica!" she roars, not moving this time.

"No, Mum, phone for you!"

"I told you not to pick up the phone!" she groans. "Tell them to call me back."

"But, Mum, the lady said it's about Uncle Ianto!"

She drops the rag into the sink, leaving the tap on as she hurries up the stairs.

"Give it here," she demands, grabbing the phone from David who's standing at the top of the small landing, pressing it to her ear with shaking hands.

"Rhiannon Davies speaking," she says, enunciating her words clearly.

"This is Meredith Yorath from Llandough Hospital in Cardiff," an unfamiliar woman says in a posh sort of voice. "You're listed as Ianto Jones' next of kin, is that cor-"

"Is he dead?" Rhiannon interrupts, pressing her hand against the door frame that separates the landing from the sitting room to prop herself up.

There is a pause. "What?" the woman says, sounding confused.

"My brother," she grits out, her entire body shaking even as she tries to control herself, aware that both David and Mica are watching her. "Ianto Jones. Is he dead?"

"Oh," she says insensitively. "No, but he's been injured. Accident, it says,"

Rhiannon gives a gasp of relief and sags against the door frame. Ianto isn't dead. Her brother _is not dead_.

"Er, sorry," the woman says, probably realizing her mistake and sounding a lot less posh. "It's my first day."

"That's alright," she says distractedly and takes another deep breath, straightening. "How bad is it?" she asks, steeling herself for the worst.

"Er, it doesn't say," the woman says awkwardly. "Sorry, I have this form, yeah? And it looks like it was only half-finished. I think you're supposed to come here in person to talk to a doctor."

"On my way," Rhiannon says, running to hang up the phone and next door to ask Gladys if she can watch David and Mica.

She and Ianto hadn't always been as close as they are now. Rhiannon was nearly twelve years old when Ianto was born and as she moved out of the house when she was sixteen to work as a waitress in town, she missed most of his formative years. Then Mum died when she was eighteen and Rhiannon stopped coming home at all. She didn't want to deal with the memories of poor Mum and her awkward teenage years, and she was so busy in Cardiff with her job and all her new friends anyway.

Rhiannon's had a lot of regrets, but there is nothing in the world she regrets more than the subsequent two year absence in her younger brother's life, and it will continue to haunt her for the rest of her days.

Right before her twenty-first birthday, Dad rang her up and begged her to come and help around the house. She hadn't wanted to come, she had a steady boyfriend and everything was setting into place, but he pleaded, telling her how Ianto was a terror and he didn't know what to do with him, so eventually she relented, promising to come and spend a few afternoons a week at home.

There were plenty of warning signs before that Rhiannon beat herself up over later for not noticing, but it wasn't until she came home for the first time in two years that she realized how bad things had become. Her dad, who had always been a bit strict, but had made jokes at the dinner table and teased her boyfriends when she brought them home had been transformed into a cold, harsh man who went out of his way to be cruel to both her and Ianto.

And Ianto. Poor, Ianto who has been such a sweet, smiling baby, has become a horribly shy, introverted, awkward child who, as far as she could tell, had no friends at school and was terrified of their father.

Even years later, Ianto refuses to tell her what happened in those two years between Mum's death and her return home, and he tells her nearly everything. She suspects it's because he doesn't want her to feel guilty.

Rhiannon did what she could, but she was young and lived too far away to be there all the time. She tried to stop her father's cruel words, but, as far as she could tell, to no avail. She was too poor to support Ianto on her own and all she knew about Child Services was from the foster home horror stories on the telly, so all she could do was try and be there for Ianto when things got to be too much.

But it wasn't enough. Ianto remained distant and reclusive into his teenage years and started getting involved in petty crime like shoplifting and, by the way he picked her lock for her when she got locked out of her flat one time, probably burglary. She had to bail him out four times over a period of five years and there was nothing she could do about it. Ianto wouldn't listen to her and she couldn't tell Dad, because Rhiannon knew he'd just beat the hell out of him.

The constant stress and worry started to affect her in ways she never expected; she stopped exercising, gained a lot of weight, withdrew into herself, and started dating Luke Brace.

He didn't even like her and she didn't like him, but she told no one, said nothing, tried to go on with life like everything was normal, but she was horrible liar, and when Ianto saw the bruises, he went _ballistic_. At fourteen, he went after her twenty-seven year old boyfriend who was twice his size with his bare hands.

Rhiannon still has nightmares about it sometimes, about the awful fight that took place even though she tried to stop it, about the coppers breaking down her door, how they dragged her little brother away. Ianto was arrested for assault, but Luke didn't press charges. He did a bunk instead, and Ianto helped her burn all his stuff.

Things got a little better after that and then she met Johnny Davies, so funny and loyal and gentle and _good,_ and when he asked her to marry her on New Year's Eve, 1998, she asked him to get Ianto's approval instead of her father's.

Ianto and Johnny didn't really understand each other, but they're friendly and Ianto approves of him, and that's really all she can ask for.

To her surprise, Ianto stayed in school and passed his A-levels with decent marks. His grades were average at best, but he managed to get into Cardiff University on a partial scholarship. He loved it there, loved the freedom from their father even though he had to work several part-time jobs to make ends meet. She and Johnny tried to help out, but by that time David had just been born and money was tight.

Then Dad died of a heart attack halfway through his first year, and everything seemed to go downhill from there. Ianto's grades suffered from his long working hours and he lost his scholarship, forcing him to drop out. He looked at other universities and colleges, but in the end he had to support himself somehow, and he got a job in London through a referral from a sympathetic professor.

Rhiannon was sad to see him go, but he was excited to get out of Cardiff and Wales, and it was the first time she had seen him happy since he found out he wouldn't be able to continue with university, so she wished him well.

His job in London was strange, he told her, something to do with the government and he'd had to sign the Official Secrets Act when he was hired, so he couldn't tell her everything. But he seemed to like being a "Junior Researcher" whatever that was and for the first time in his life he'd made friends and then he was seriously dating a woman named Lisa who was all he could talk about.

Rhiannon was surprised when Ianto brought her home because she'd met Ianto's university girlfriend the year before and Lisa Hallet was nothing like her (which was probably the best considering how that relationship ended.) She was a little surprised to find that Lisa was black, too, but she supposed things were a bit different in London and it wasn't like Lisa wasn't a nice person. She was beautiful and smart and maybe a bit posh, but Ianto adored her and she adored him back, so how could Rhiannon complain?

But then Lisa died and Ianto heart-brokenly told her everything; the truth about his job, about Torchwood and aliens, and she didn't believe him until he showed her proof, though even now Rhiannon sometimes wonders.

He was promoted then, became a field agent, doing dangerous things, hurting people and getting hurt, and it was like she was twenty-five all over again, a spectator to Ianto's life without the power to effect any real change. He didn't even come to Mica's christening.

Slowly, her younger brother became a hardened killer, cold and dangerous and broken and sad. There were no friends in his life anymore, only colleagues, no girlfriends, no nothing and Rhiannon couldn't do a thing.

Two years later, he was transferred to Torchwood's branch in Cardiff, something she didn't even know existed, and he told her about the Rift in the middle which spits out flotsam and jetsam and is monitored by the Cardiff branch.

Rhiannon didn't go into town for three months after that, even though Ianto assured her it was safe.

He was not happy to be transferred to Cardiff because apparently he was supposed be a spy as well as a field agent, as Torchwood Three's known for it's unorthodox "dangerous" methods. Ianto found them incompetent and idiotic at first, but eventually they grew on him.

From what he's told her, they all hate him. He doesn't mind. Making it even worse that she's pretty sure he fancies his boss. His very _male_ boss. He hasn't said anything about it, but Rhiannon knows him well enough that she's confident she's right just from the way he talks about that Jack Harkness. It all comes completely out of the blue, and it's weird for a bit, but then Mica becomes friends with a girl with two mothers and they're alright, so Rhiannon tries to be more open-minded.

Time passes by quickly, she doesn't talk to him for months at a time, but it's alright because then one night he'll invite her over drinks tell her all the crazy things about his job and his colleagues, some of which she still doesn't believe. (A sex monster? Really?)

Just the other day she was thinking that it seems like he's doing better in Cardiff. There are no new injuries for almost three years, and he's not happy, but at least he's close to home.

But then, of course, fate intervenes and now she's rushing into the entrance of Llandough Hospital.

* * *

><p>"They've stabilized him," Martha says wearily, sitting down beside Owen. "You alright?" she asks him.<p>

"I'm shorter than Jones," Owen says suddenly, the first words that he's said in hours, hunched over in the hospital waiting room chair.

Gwen Cooper raises her head slowly to look at him, "What?" she asks, shaking her head twice to wake herself up.

"I'm shorter than Jones," Owen repeats slowly. "That bullet...that bullet would've hit my heart."

There is a long, long pause. Gwen takes a shaky breath.

"Maybe," she starts slowly, careful not to sound insensitive. "Maybe we should go home now. There's nothing we can do and he's going to live, so..."

She's exhausted from disposing of Copley's body, and Jones just saved Owen's life, which makes _no_ sense at all, and all she wants to do now is curl up in bed with Rhys and let the day melt away.

"Right," Jack says, finally taking charge. "Go home, everyone. We'll be back tomorrow."

They all look at each other, even Martha, as if to ask _Why?_ But no one dares say it out loud.

"Because I'm going to kill him," Jack snarls, answering their silent question and strides over towards the exit, coat swaying dramatically behind him.

Gwen, glances at Owen, Tosh, and Martha, and collectively they all stand and quietly follow him out of the hospital.

It sounds horrible, but the fact of the matter is it's simply not practical to go all the way back to the hospital when Jones isn't even awake. It's not that it's just Jones either. If it were her, Gwen would expect Rhys to wait by her bedside, but certainly not the rest of the Torchwood team. They really had more important things to be doing, monitoring the Rift or catching Weevils. It's not a thought that she would have had a year ago, but she's a little less naïve now. She knows more about the world now than when she was a low level PC.

But Jack is in charge, so at eleven in the morning Torchwood and Martha Jones arrives back at Llandough.

Gwen didn't know what she was expecting, maybe Jack pacing around the room angrily and muttering expletives before they finally left (Jones hadn't woken up yet and their boss clearly hadn't thought this all the way through,) but she certainly wasn't expecting someone else in the hospital room when Jack barged through.

She's an unassuming, short woman, around the age that Jack appears to be, wearing a thick purple sweater and holding a stack of tabloids in her lap. She's sitting in a chair next to the bed, where Jones lies, still unconscious and deathly pale. She looks up when they enter, eyes flickering over them quickly, spending just tad longer on Jack, most likely because of the coat, but ultimately turns back to her tabloids without comment.

"Uh...excuse me," Jack starts, looking bemused. "This area's restricted."

"Next of kin," the woman replies without even a glance in their direction.

"Sorry?"

"I'm his sister," she says sharply, still refusing to look at him.

Jack turns to glare at Owen, who, as she guesses, was probably supposed to tell the hospital not to contact Jones' next of kin.

'Sorry' Owen mouths and shrugs his shoulders in a not particularly apologetic manner.

"Hi," Martha says kindly, stepping neatly in front of Jack. "Sorry, we work with your bro-"

"I don't care," the woman says coldly.

There is a very long silence, only broken by the woman turning a colorful page.

"And your name would be?" Jack asks, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly unamused at the woman's rudeness.

"Rhiannon Davies," she replies, folding down one of the tabloid page corners. "Ianto Jones' older sister."

She says it like a P.O.W says their name, rank, and serial number. Sharp, cold, and with thinly veiled contempt. She is, shockingly, similar to Jones.

"You're not supposed to be here," Jack continues in the same disapproving tone.

"_You're _not supposed to be 'ere either," she retorts, finally bringing her head up to look at him. "It's family only, last I checked."

Jack opens his mouth to say something he'll probably regret later, but before he manages to get the words out Davies cell phone rings.

She fumbles for it in her bag, almost comically, pulling out a bottle of colorful vitamins, a bunch of coupons paper-clipped together, pads, mace, and lipstick before she finds it.

"Hello...Mica! Did Mrs. Evans say you could use her phone?" she asks crossly, and God, she has _children_, Gwen thinks in horror. What kind of mother could she possibly be if she's anything like _Jones_?

"Look, love, your Uncle Ianto's been in a bit of an accident...yes, _again_," she says, a softness settling over her face that makes Gwen rethink the previous assessment. "Just tell your Dad not to worry, I'll be home in a couple hours. And tell David to behave or I'll take his computer off him. You be good to Mrs. Evans, yeah? Alright, I'll see you soon, sweetheart."

She puts her phone and all the other things back in her bag, and then her eyes flicker down to look at Jones, a strange regretful look in her eye that Gwen wonders later if she hallucinated because then it's gone so quickly, replaced by a familiar blank look.

"You should go talk to his doctor," she says suddenly, eyes still on Jones, "He was asking earlier about some great big bloody gashes in his chest."

"Right," Owen says awkwardly, "Those are...old. Were healing up before-"

Jack clears his throat, and Owen trails off. The woman's lips curve into a smile, but she does not look particularly amused.

They wait while Owen and Martha go to talk to the doctor, Gwen drumming her fingers idly against her thighs, Tosh throwing wary glances at Davies, and Jack tapping one shoe impatiently against the tiled floor and glaring at Jones. Davies does not move except once every few minutes to turn the page, possessing the same uncanny ability as Jones to remain absolutely still for long periods of time.

She's completely unnerving in a way that Jones is not. Because Jones has his vest and his guns and his scars, but this woman seems to be completely ordinary. Gwen wouldn't give her a second glance on the street.

Finally, Martha and Owen return, Owen giving his _everything is in order nod _and they turn to go.

"You still haven't asked is who we are or what happened," Jack says suddenly, pausing in the doorway.

The woman glances up at him, contempt plain on her face.

"It's not like you'd tell me the truth, innit?"

Jack, and they exit the room, Gwen glancing over her shoulder as she goes to see that Jones' sister has gone back to her tabloids.

They do a quick search on her once they get back to the Hub, but come up with basically nothing.

"Born Rhiannon Jones in 1972, never finished school, worked a couple of jobs in Cardiff," Tosh reads out from her computer, "involved in a minor domestic problem the police were contacted for in '97, but no criminal record. Married to John Davies in '99, first child, David, born in 2000, second child, Mica, born in '03. Has lived on the Cromwell Estate since 2001."

Tosh shrugs her shoulders and looks up at them. "There's a bit of credit card debt problems, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"Do you think she knows?" Gwen asks worriedly. "About Torchwood and us, I mean?"

"There's no way Jones would ever tell her," Owen says confidently. "He's too much with the rules."

"Jack?" Gwen asks.

"...omestic problem in '97," he's muttering under his breath. "That must be-What?"

"Do you think Davies knows about Torchwood?" she repeats.

"Oh? No, probably not," he says, waving a hand flippantly. "She probably suspects that Jones works for some classified government program, but it's doubtful she knows about aliens. And even if she does, we can hardly retcon someone for suspicions. We'd have to retcon the entire police service."

Gwen nods, but still feels uneasy.

Two days later, they receive a call that Jones has woken up and Gwen goes with Jack back to the hospital, mostly to stop him from strangling Jones. Martha has gone back to UNIT and though both Owen and Tosh want to come too, Jack orders them to stay put.

Unfortunately, Davies is in the room when they arrive, and so they hover awkwardly outside, unwillingly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"...so he's got a huge bloody bite mark on his arm and he's terrified of going to school now, so I told the school and they said they'd take care of it, but they _still _haven't," Davies is saying, sounding agitated.

"Do I need to shoot someone?" Jones deadpans, sounding a bit hoarse.

She laughs, "No, no, I might ask you to bail me out once I punch his bloody mother, though."

Jones lets out a laugh. It sounds genuine and thus very strange.

"You _punched_ his mother?"

"No, but I'm going to if her brat keeps bothering 'im. He's got enough trouble with school as it is."

There's a lull in the conversation, and Gwen glances at Jack, wordlessly trying to tell him to knock.

"Ianto...?" Davies says hesitantly.

"I know you're out there," Jones says sharply, all traces of amusement gone. "Come on in then."

Jack pushes the door open bad-temperedly, and Gwen follows, ducking her head in embarrassment as she enters the room.

Jones' sister is in the same seat she was last time, but pulled up closer to the bed and she looks pretty startled by their presence. Jones is sitting up in the hospital bed, and Gwen's not a doctor, but she doubts very much that's something he should be doing. He does not look pleased, his jaw set tightly, and body gone very stiff, even apparent under the loose hospital gown, sunlight streaming in from the windows illuminating a rectangular patch on his shoulder.

"Can we speak in private?" Jack asks coldly, glowering at Jones like he's trying to set him on fire with his mind.

Davies glances worriedly between the two men, and Jones' scowl deepens, but he gives his sister a sharp nod. Slowly she stands, and carefully circumvents her and Jack, as if she expects them to lash out at her, exiting the room slowly with a short backwards glance at her brother.

The door shuts behind her and Jack clenches his fists, striding forward to stand at the foot of Jones' bed.

"You..." Jack hisses, shoulders shaking. "You-I could _kill_ you."

"What the hell for?" Jones blurts out, taken aback, clearly not expecting this sort of reaction.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you!" Jack shouts, the sound seeming to echo around the room, and Gwen winces.

"What's wrong with _you_?" he retorts, eyes almost comically wide.

"You fucking stepped in front of a bullet!" Jack rages. "I can't believe you just-"

"Just what? Just _what_?" Jones snarls, looking almost as feral as Jack now. "I was under the impression that I saved Harper's life!"

Jack lunges forward, grabbing hold of the metal railing at the foot of the bed, causing the blue clipboard attached to clatter to the floor, "That is _not_ the point! You..." He grinds his teeth together furiously. "First with that _idiotic_ stunt you pulled at the Hub and now _thi_s? I am getting _so _sick of your suicidal bullshit!"

"Suici-How do you figure-" Jones stutters, going very white.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Jack continues and Gwen frowns, confused.

What is Jack talking about? Why does he think Jones...Does he _really_ think Jones is suicidal? Jones had stepped in front of the shot that was meant for Owen, but he wasn't trying to...he couldn't be...was he?

"Actually, I have absolutely no idea what you're on about," Jones says frostily, fists clenching into the bedclothes.

"Please," Jack hisses, letting go of the railing and making a violent downward sweep of his arm. "Like this was an accident."

"What exactly do you think you're insinuating?"

"I'm not insinuating anything!" Jack says with a whoop of laughter. "I'm accusing you, here and now, of trying to get yourself _fucking_ killed!"

"Jack," Gwen says reasonably. "I don't think-"

"Stay out of this!" Jack says harshly, his eyes not leaving Jones' for even a second.

Gwen straightens, blinking rapidly at the shock of his bitter dismissal.

"Now, wait just a minute-" she starts angrily, drawing herself up.

"I said, stay out of this," Jack repeats, whirling towards her. "Wait outside, Gwen."

"Wha-" she gapes, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"Wait outside. I don't need a babysitter," Jack says, brutally staring her down.

"I _beg_ to differ," Jones cuts in furiously.

"You don't get a bloody say. You just tried to off yourself!"

"Says who? You think it makes it true just because the great Captain Jack fucking Harkness says so?"

"I know you," Jack growls, and Gwen suddenly realizes that in her year and a half of working at Torchwood, she has never seen him so angry. "I _know_ you."

"You don't even know my first _name_," Jones seethes. "You don't know a bloody thing about me. And don't you dare patronize me, _sir, _because you don't have a fucking clue."

Gwen swallows, glancing between the two of them, but it's like she's not even there. She wants to help, wants to stop Jack's unwarranted anger, Jones saved Owen's _life_, after all, but she keeps hearing Jack's cold, _cruel_ words in her head, like on a loop.

Hurt, she turns away, blinking her eyes furiously and exits the room, leaning against the wall outside the door as Jack starts to shout about how Jones almost died.

Suddenly, just as she is going over the words that she is going to _scream_ at Jack later, she realizes that Rhiannon Davies is sitting on the other side of the door.

Gwen turns towards her in horror, realizing that she has heard/is hearing every single word of Jack and Jones' argument, and sees that she's crying.

"Hey," Gwen says gently, crouching down in front of her, compassion overriding any resentment she had over Davies' earlier rudeness. "Hey, look, it's okay, Jack's just a bit..."

She bites her lip, searching for a proper word. She gives up after a few moments.

"If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure he isn't right," she says instead. "Your brother's not the type to, you know."

Rhiannon nods, taking a shaky breath and wiping tears of her cheeks, "Yes," she says, voice surprisingly steady. "I know."

She doesn't sound particularly comforted.

"He saved one of our friend's lives-one of Jack and mine," she says encouragingly. "Bullet would've hit him in the heart, but he-" Quite suddenly, Gwen realizes her mistake. "I mean, well, when I said bullet, I meant-"

Rhiannon raises an eyebrow at her and Gwen relents. "Oh, alright, strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to...well...don't tell anyone, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rhiannon says softly. "Mum's the word and all."

"Mmm," Gwen nods, and then winces as Jack starts on about the alien that slashed up Jones' chest, "Look, sorry, but he's in a state and, well, this stuff is sort of classified, so I'm going to have to- I mean, why don't we go to the lounge and get a nice cup of tea, yeah?"

"Alright, then," Rhiannon says and stands up. "You don't have to come with. Should stay here, probably."

"Are you sure...?"

"Positive," she smiles sweetly at her and Gwen marvels at the contrast between her demeanor now and when they first met. "Thank you."

"N-no problem," Gwen calls as the women starts to walk away. "Just don't," she adds, feeling something extra is needed. "Just don't worry. Jack knows a lot of things, but he doesn't know everything. You know Jones'll be fine, right?"

The woman turns around slowly, one hand clutching her purse to look at Gwen in a way she can't exactly decipher.

"What I know," she says calmly, "is that my brother will not live to see thirty."

"What?" Gwen stares, shocked at her morbidity.

"And you..." Rhiannon continues sadly, "'ow old are you?"

"Tw-Twenty nine," Gwen replies, puzzled.

"Then you most likely won't either," she finishes sorrowfully. "Pity."

She leaves Gwen staring after her then, unaware of even Jack and Jones' shouts next door until a nurse comes to ask them to be quiet.

* * *

><p>"Jack said <em>what<em>?" Owen Harper gapes and Gwen gives him a warning look, bringing her finger up to her lips to shush him. "Why?"

"I have no clue," Gwen whispers, so softly that he and Tosh have to lean in to hear. "The second the sister left he just started screaming at him. He just blew his bleeding lid. I haven't...I don't think I've ever seen him that angry, not for that long anyway."

"But why would he think Jones was trying to commit suicide?" Owen frowns, adjusting his glasses. "I mean, there's a lot easier ways to commit suicide than just trying to get yourself shot. He can eat a gun whenever he wants!"

"Look, don't ask me," Gwen says, holding up her hands defensively. "And for Christ's sake, don't ask Jack. He nearly bit my head off _twice_, once in the room and the second time in the SUV on the way back," she continues bitterly, "I don't know why he's so adamant about it, and at this point, frankly, I don't care."

"But Jones was okay, right?" Tosh pipes up, looking concerned. "I mean, how was he?"

"He certainly held his own against Jack," Gwen says harshly. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but good for him."

"What are you talking about?" Jack's voice comes floating down from his office peevishly.

"Weevil mating habits!" Gwen shouts up rudely and then stomps off downstairs into the archives.

Jack exits his office, arms crossed over his chest bad-temperedly. He quirks an eyebrow down at him and Tosh, wordlessly saying _Well, do you agree with her_?

Owen _is_ a bit angry that he almost died and all Jack can do is shout at the man who saved his life, but with Jack's cold stare fixed on him, he decides _not_ to get in between Jack, Gwen, and Jones' feud.

"Well, I'm off," he says, breaking the staring contest with Jack before it can even begin.

"It's not even six o'clock," Jack protests. "You should be working on cataloging those bugs! And the alien bird...thing."

"I've already put all the information into the computer," Owen says, grabbing his jacket and bag from his desk. "It's processing. It'll take awhile."

"And you?" Jack whirls towards Tosh, who has started to pack up her things.

"My code's compiling," she says quickly, which is basically her way of saying _I don't want to do any work at the moment _and because Jack doesn't understand contemporary technology, he falls for it every time.

"Fine," Jack grumbles. "See you tomorrow."

"Later," Owen replies, and he and Tosh exit the Hub as fast as humanely possible without arising suspicion.

Jones is a wanker, a complete bastard with absolutely no morals or social skills, but the man did just save Owen's life, so he turns to Tosh and asks, "Hospital?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," she replies.

They take his car because Tosh doesn't have one, and they get to the hospital in about fifteen minutes because Tosh insists on getting flowers. Jones' sister is still in the room when they come in, showing Jones something on her cell phone (doesn't the woman have a _job_?) but she stiffens and leans back into her seat when she spots them.

Jones immediately scowls and crosses his arms in a way shockingly reminiscent of Jack back at the Hub.

"Hi," he says pointedly, as if expecting a confrontation. "Are you going to yell at me for half and hour and suggest I need psychiatric help too?"

"You needing psychiatric help is hardly anything new," Owen retorts, completely forgetting to be nice. " And I'd rather you not compare me with Jack, who, as you've probably noticed, is even more off his rocker than usual."

Jones blinks, "Yes, there might've been a couple clues," he says sarcastically, glancing over him and Tosh in a strangely careful manner.

"Anyway," Owen says with difficulty, remembering the reason he came here. "You sort of, well, you saved my life."

There. Said it.

Owen sticks his hands in his jacket pockets uncomfortably, "So, er, thanks for that, I guess."

"You haven't exactly been doing much with it," Jones says patronizingly, looking at Tosh and then back to him for no apparent reason. "But you're welcome, I suppose."

"Fuck you," Owen tells him casually, because sometimes he is _such_ a smug bastard. "Heal up and get out of here, because Jack's coffee is shit."

"He _touched_ the coffee machine?" Jones asks lowly, looking genuinely horrified and next to him his sister's shoulders shake in her effort not to laugh.

"You're doing alright, though? Tosh asks, smiling beautifully.

"Besides the awful food and Harkness screaming at m-" he pauses, staring at Tosh as if he's just noticed she's there.

"You've brought flowers," he finishes stupidly.

"Oh," Tosh says, looking down at the bouquet as if she forgot she was holding it, "Yeah, here."

She awkwardly hands the purple flowers to Jones' sister (what was her name again?) while both siblings stare at her as if they've never seen anything like her before.

"They-They're chrysanthemums," Tosh explains nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Japanese tradition, they symbolize longevity and health- at least that's what my mum says."

"Thank you," Jones' sister murmurs, looking touched.

"A-Anyway, get better soon!" Tosh stutters, crossing her hands neatly in front of her purple skirt. "When do you think you'll be released?"

"Doctor said three weeks, so about a week and a half," Jones replies, still looking strangely at her.

"So he doesn't listen to any doctors, does he?" Owen says wearily to Jones' sister. "Thought it was just me."

"No, you're one of many," Jones' sister says, giving her brother a cross look. "You daft sod," she mutters under her breath.

Jones merely rolls his eyes at her in reply.

"No one brought flowers," Tosh murmurs while he drives her home a couple minutes later. "Not even his sister. I wonder why?"

"Who knows?" Owen responds, "She was a bit rum, too, wasn't she? Must run in the family."

Tosh lets out a little laugh, "Maybe."

"Here you are then," Owen says, bringing the car slowly to a stop in front of her complex.

"Thanks for the ride," she says, getting out of the car. She pauses halfway and ducks her head down a bit. "And, you know, not dying."

She shuts the door quickly, and he watches her go curiously.

He's had a few days to think about what had happened if Jones hadn't stepped in front of him and it was all rather terrifying. Owen has been a doctor long enough to understand death, _really_ understand it, instead of going into shock over his close call. He knows how close he got to, well, rotting in a hole six feet under. Jones had saved his _life,_ and Owen knew what that really meant.

"_You haven't exactly been doing much with it," _Jones' words echo in his head.

Suddenly, without any thought put behind it, Owen rolls down his window.

"Oi, Tosh, c'mere!" he shouts and she turns back hesitantly.

Owen gets out of the car, leaning forward against the door and running his hands through his hair as she approaches, strangely nervous.

"About that date we talked about earlier," he says slowly. "Wanna do that now?"

"Oh," she says, surprised. As if she thought he wasn't serious. "It...It's Thursday night at eight. I don't think we'll get seats."

He frowns, opening his mouth to say that they wouldn't have that much trouble at the Terra Nova, but stops himself at the last second. No. He's going to do this properly.

"Right," he says instead.

"Maybe," Tosh starts hesitantly, holding her arms tightly around herself against the cold. "Maybe on Saturday. Barring the Rift."

"If the world ends on Saturday, I'm holding you accountable," he tells her, grinning despite himself. "Right then. Saturday."

She nods, turning a bit red. "Okay...Um, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"'Night!" he shouts at her back and drives back to his flat, satisfied with the day's events.

**A/N: Part II: In which I am really mean to Ianto. Many thanks to everyone who reviewed and my betas! I hope you liked this latest installment and please tell me what you think!**


	3. Part III

Part III-

"_Ianto, I'm so sorry, I can't, it's too much. I love you, I love you so much, honey, and I am so, _so, _sorry, but it's-"_

Ianto Jones wakes with a shout, sitting up and slamming his back against the headboard in almost one smooth motion. Gasping for breath, he grips the tops of the headboard, willing himself to calm down.

"Fuck," he says to no one particular, the curse echoing around his empty room.

He brings a trembling hand down to wipe his eyes and then leans his head into his hands, gritting his teeth together tightly at the pain of the half-healed wounds on his chest, but mostly, at the other, less apparent pain.

His five o'clock alarm rings and he glances up, bringing his hands down slowly and then reaching out to turn it off.

Ianto swallows and pushes himself out of bed to get in the shower.

Half an hour later he's getting off the bus at the Millennium Centre and walking across the deserted Plass to unlock the decrepit tourism office that has been "Closed for Repairs" since before he came to Torchwood Three.

He presses the button behind the dust covered desk and walks through the passage way into the Hub, the pterodactyl giving a harsh cry as he enters. As expected, the Hub is a mess and he does his best to clean it up without straining the now sixty-three stitches nearly blanketing his torso. God, they're like children, he thinks disgustedly.

Unfortunately, there's only so many pizza boxes and takeout cartons he can pick up without bending over and from there it could only go one way.

Half an hour later he's standing in front of the mirror in the showers with his shirt off, grimacing at the wounds on his chest that have reddened with irritation. As far as he can tell, none of the stitches have ripped this time, but it hurts like hell, so something else could easily be wrong. Idly, he traces them, smoothing his his fingers lightly over the each of the three slashes and then the bullet wound right under his heart. Ianto scowls. He's been banged up enough to know when something's going to scar or not and these are _definitely _going to scar.

He sees something move in the mirror and he spins around, grabbing for the gun that isn't there to see Jack leaning against the tiled wall, wearing only trousers and a white undershirt.

"Did I _wake you up_?" Ianto asks coldly, annoyed that Jack managed to sneak up on him.

"Yes, actually," Jack replies casually, eyeing his bare chest.

Ianto turns away to pick up his shirt off the sink counter, purposefully avoiding Jack's gaze. It's not like he's ashamed of his scars or anything, but...well, maybe he is, a little. It's just lately he's rather beginning to look like an human cutting board, and while scars are 'cool' there's only so many you can get before you start looking like some kind of criminal.

Carefully, he raises his arms and pulls his shirt slowly over his head, biting his lip. He refuses to show more pain than he has to in front of Jack.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jack asks calmly, but oddly not until Ianto has finished putting on the under armour.

"I always come in at six, sir," Ianto replies, deliberately misunderstanding the question.

"No," Jack says, still so calm, contrasting greatly with his demeanor almost two weeks ago. "What are you doing _here_? You should still be in the hospital."

"I'm not going to heal much faster there rather than here," Ianto says, reaching for his vest and gun belt, which is not, strictly, true. It's just that he physically cannot _stay_ there any longer, or even in his flat. He has to _do _something or he'll go mad, or even more mad than he already is. He knows it, Rhiannon knows it, and he can't have her spending her entire day with him any longer trying to keep him company.

"You ever do anything like that again, I _will_ fire you," Jack says furiously, but it is a cold fury, very unlike his loud shouting in the hospital.

Ianto meets his eyes in the mirror.

"That doesn't even mean anything," he replies instead of what he knows Jack wants to hear. "There's no such thing as sacking someone in Torchwood. There's death in the line of duty, death in not-exactly the line of duty which London seemed to be rather fond of, sectioning, and your personal favorite, retcon."

"'No such thing as sacking someone in Torchwood?" Jack quotes, straightening up and looking incensed. "'I _am_ Torchwood!"

"Which leaves retcon," Ianto continues, unfazed. "But it's a little too late for that. I've been working for Torchwood for almost six years, I've got scars all over my body, my right _kidney _failed more than four years ago, and don't think I haven't left triggers for myself just in case."

He turns around to look into Jack's eyes again after zipping up his vest.

"And though I suspect you're loath to," he says casually, almost as an afterthought. "That leaves killing me."

"You'd like that, though, wouldn't you?" Jack spits.

Ianto pushes back the anxious thoughts like _How does he know?_ and shrugs his shoulders.

"Not really," he says truthfully.

There is a long pause and Jack stares him down. Ianto blinks just as he would normally, but does not look away.

"You shouldn't be here," Jack says finally, and Ianto doesn't think he means just today.

"I know," he responds, walking past him to exit the showers. "But I'm not going to leave."

* * *

><p>Jack Harkness watches him go, drumming his fingers against the wall in a nervous habit, not sure whether he wants to bash Jones' head in or slam him against the wall and just <em>have him<em>.

He doesn't remember much of that alien pheromone induced night about two years ago. Mostly just desperation, an awful lot of lust, and mere sensory fragments, almost leftovers. Jones' nails digging into his bicep, the feel of his scarred hip under his fingers, the near-blinding pleasure when he thrust _just right, _the sound of his gasping breaths. Barely worth remembering, but Jack clings to those pieces like they're the only thing keeping him alive (yes, he appreciates the irony of that simile) and it's ridiculous because it wasn't even _good_ sex. He's replayed them in his mind over and over again, but it's not enough, even if he remembered properly it wouldn't be enough, and it's driving him mad. _Jones_ is driving him mad, Jack's contempt and lust and admiration and maybe even a little bit of pity for him all ricocheting around his brain whenever he speaks to him, sees him, _thinks_ of him. Gwen's been discussing her wedding plans with Tosh for weeks now, and Jack realizes he doesn't even _care_ anymore. (Rhys is still a moron, though.)

Something's got to give, sometime soon, and Jack really, _really_ doesn't want it to be him. It's mad, completely mad, Jones is a crazy murderer who killed his fucking _girlfriend_, and Jack desperately wants to shag him.

Maybe if he just wanted to shag him he could live with himself (yes, yes, irony again,) but it's not just that. He wants to see him completely bared, without any barriers or goddamn _sirs_. He wants to have him incoherent and begging, yes, but he also wants to trace each and every scar on his body, know what he's thinking in that mysterious brain of his, understand why he is the way he is, and why he lives in an utterly empty flat, devoid of any personality or life except for a face-down picture frame on his bedside table. He wants to know him, _really _know him, _learn_ and figure him out. Even worse, there's some part of Jack that craves Jones' approval above all else and that really is unforgivable.

And it's insane, fucking insane, mostly for all the reasons above, but also because half the time he can't even remember Jones' _first name_.

A couple weeks later, Gwen gets married even with an evil alien baby inside her stomach and the wedding is, well, a total disaster, though Jack has to admit he had fun running down the aisle shouting "Stop the wedding!"

Weddings always make him uncomfortable and nostalgic, so the Nostrovite is almost a blessing, but what really makes the whole thing worth it is when he specifically orders Jones to wear clothes that _blend in_ and he shows up in a suit. It's not that it's a particularly spectacular suit. Pretty standard wedding attire, navy blue with a white collared shirt and plain black tie, but, oh, the _things_ that suit does to him. It gives him fantasy fodder for _weeks. _

Regular guns don't work on the Nostrovite (something that seems to upset Jones' whole worldview, the psycho) so Jack has to blast it to pieces with a slightly less earthly weapon. Gwen finally marries Rhys and then they're off to Santorini for a fortnight, leaving the Hub seeming strangely empty, or at least until Jack notices Tosh and Owen's pathetic attempts to keep their awkward relationship under wraps and then it's just _hilarious. _

Gwen comes back, tan and in an extraordinarily good mood, showing Tosh pictures of her and Rhys on the beach and smiling in such an infectious way that Jack can't help be happy for her, even if her taste in men is crap.

Then one rainy night Owen calls them frantically, going on about some crazy old film and shadows that came out of it, people are turning up with their life source's stolen, and then they're off chasing ghostly shadows that they don't know how to kill. Must be Wednesday.

"Is that _you_?" Gwen asks incredulously as they review the tape back at the Hub. "You did stand-up?

"You're _killing _yourself," Jones states, oddly pale and looking horrified.

"I was undercover," Jack explains flippantly. "What, it's not like I can die permanently."

Jones throws him a disgusted look and turns away, looking slightly ill. Jack frowns inquisitively at him.

"He was part of the freak show!" Owen says gleefully.

"What were you doing there anyway?" Gwen asks Owen curiously. "You're hardly seem the type to be interested in history."

Owen glances at Tosh, who had been on scene suspiciously quickly and is dressed up a little more than usual. Jack smirks.

"I was bored," he says defensively, sinking down in his chair.

"No, but really," Gwen says, not letting it go, intent on trying to find something to make fun of Owen for. "You couldn't go out to a pub or whatever-"

"Can we stay on task here?" Jones interjects haughtily, eyes still on the film.

Gwen glares at him, but before she can continue interrogating Owen, Tosh sits up straight in her seat.

"Something's wrong," she says, winding back the tape. "Something's missing."

"How do you mean?" Jack asks, but she doesn't answer, just frowns and watches the clip over and over again.

"Got it!" she announces triumphantly a few minutes later. "This film, it's not the same one we saw at the cinema."

"Course it's the sam-" Gwen pauses, dawning realization on her face, glancing between Tosh and Owen. "'We?'"

Tosh rewinds the film again, staring a little too intently at the screen, and next to Jack, Owen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"There," she says, pausing the clip. "There was a woman in front of that water tank."

Owen nods. "That's right," he says confidently. "I remember her. Wearing almost nothing."

Tosh glares at him and starts the film again, pausing it a few seconds later.

"And there," she points at the empty shot. "There was a man, sort of beckoning at the audience."

"Creepy bloke," Owen confirms, refusing to look at Tosh or Gwen, the latter unsuccessfully trying to suppress a gleeful smirk. "Top hat."

"Are you sure you brought the right can of film back?" Gwen asks, clearing her throat in an obvious attempt at being professional.

"Positive," he replies.

In the corner of his eyes, he sees Jones roll his eyes.

The ghosts are also impervious to bullets, though Jones ought to be commended for the effort, but Tosh comes up with a rather brilliant plan to recapture them onto the film and burn them. Jones manages to catch the Ghostmaker's flask, but only one of the eight breaths remains.

"Pity," Jones mutters as they leave the surviving little boy's bedside. "Probably would've been better if he'd died."

"What?" Gwen splutters, aghast. "Why would you even _think_ that?"

Jones gives her his patented _I expect better from you _look.

"His entire family's dead and it's not like he's too young to remember them," he says matter-of-factly. "So, really, what's the point?"

Gwen gapes at him as he continues down the hospital hallway to the parking lot in horror.

"Gwen?" Jack says gently, leaning down to look at her face.

"I hate it when he says things like that," Gwen says tearfully, wiping her eyes furiously. "How could he think it'd be better if that little boy was _dead_?"

Jack glares after Jones, hating him for making Gwen upset, but mostly because of that fact that he still wants him.

He doesn't even know _why_ he wants him. Sure, he's not bad looking, but Jack's had better and he isn't even his _type_, to use the quaint 21st century term. For one, he's too young. It's not like Jack always checks the age of his partners, but after a hundred thirty-nine years of immortality, he tends to be attracted to people in their mid-thirties and up, _not_ twenty-five year olds. One-night stands are one thing, but most people are still _children _in their twenties, and Jack's not much into pedophilia. And murdering psychopath aside, Jones is horribly jaded and that's not usually a trait Jack finds attractive either.

Jack sighs and offers Gwen his arm as they make their way down the hallway and into the lobby. Trust Jones to screw everything up.

And then, _everything_ changes, but not quite in way Jack anticipated.

* * *

><p>Toshiko Sato is humming quietly to herself as she, Jack, and Gwen get into the SUV after retconning an elderly man who saw a weevil messing about in his backyard.<p>

"You're in a good mood," Gwen says, giving her a playful glance over her shoulder from the passenger seat.

"Owen must've put out, huh?" Jack says with a raunchy laugh.

"Jack!" Tosh protests, blushing furiously.

"Oooh, he has, hasn't he?" Gwen gasps, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"That is for me to know and for you to wonder about," Tosh says, desperately trying not to smile.

"Oh ho! That's confirmation enough for me!" Jack whoops and Tosh resists the urge to bury her head in her hands. Owen is going to _kill_ her!

A few minutes later (and several lecherous jokes) they arrives back at the Roald Dahl Plass. They park the SUV in its underground lot and unpack the gear, which only consists of one bag of retcon and thus doesn't take very long.

"Oi, Owen!" Gwen shouts gleefully as they enter the Hub. "I never knew you had it in you to be such a-"

She trails off as she reaches the top of the stairs, frowning.

"He's not here..." she says, looking disappointed.

"Probably taking a leak," Jack says flippantly, but he frowns looking around the Hub. "Jones!"

There's no reply.

They all look at each other.

"Jones'd never leave the Hub abandoned," Gwen says slowly.

"I'll check the loo," Jack says immediately.

"Owen!" Gwen shouts down into the basement. "Jones!"

"He's not in the med bay!" Tosh shouts, ducking down to look behind the Rift Manipulator just in case he's fallen.

"Not in the loo!"

"Owen!" Gwen yells again, starting to go down into the basement, Jack at her heels.

Tosh wants to follow them down as well, but she forces herself to run up to her computer and check the CCTV camera. She rewinds ten minutes, back, twenty minutes back, half an hour and still no sign-there! Forty-three minutes ago.

Jones is making coffee and Owen is pissing around with his computer, probably with one of those idiotic internet games he's been obsessed with lately.

There's an indistinct clanging sound and they both freeze.

"You hear that?" Owen asks and Jones nods.

"Sound like something in the basement," he says, taking out his gun and Owen follows suit.

They slowly make their way down the stairs and out of sight to where there are no cameras.

"Shit!" Tosh curses, grabbing her gun off her workstation and heads downstairs after Jack and Gwen.

"Jack!" she shouts once she reaches the first sub-level. "Have you found them yet?"

"Down here!" Jack's voices comes from far below her. "The lowest level! They're here! Bring Owen's med kit!"

"Oh, God!" Tosh whimpers but forces herself to run back up the stairs to the main floor, grab Owen's kit and run all the way down to the sixth sub-level.

"Where?" she cries as she steps off the last stair, looking around the uniform white hallways that spread off in four different directions before spotting them at the end of the one behind the stairs.

"Is he-" she gasps, skidding to a halt in front of Gwen who's cradling Owen's head carefully.

Owen groans, effectively answering her question.

All the way at the end of the hallway, Jack is helping Jones get to his feet, using the large blue door behind which all the Torchwood One stuff they have no idea what to do with is stored as leverage.

"Didn't see it," Owen mutters as Tosh drops to her knees beside him. "There was a noise, we came down to investigate and then bam! Must've slammed Jones against the wall and then me when I came after 'im."

"You see it?" Jack demands, and Jones shakes his head, trying to pull himself away from Jack's steadying hands.

"No," Jones says, wincing and bringing up a hand to touch his head gingerly. "It was in the archives on level three though, the place's a complete mess. It was looking for something."

"Intelligent then," Jack says, throwing Jones' arm around his shoulders and grabbing him around the waist to help him walk, despite Jones' obvious reticence.

"Up you get, Owen," Gwen says gently, and they help Owen stand and begins to make the long trek up the stairs, firearms at the ready.

They manage to make it back to the Hub without any incident, and Tosh immediately hands out cold packs to Owen and Jones, hovering next to Owen uncertainly.

"I'm fine, Tosh, really," Owen says for the third time, giving her a painful grimace that is probably supposed to be a reassuring grin. "Just got knocked out."

"There's nothing," Jack says as he comes back up the stairs after giving the basement a sweep. "No sign of it."

"You check the archives?" Jones questions, on his feet and pacing the length of the Hub, having bounced back quickly .

"Yes," Jack responds, looking slightly insulted. "It turned the place on its head. No clues to what it was looking for."

"How the hell did it get in here, Jack?" Owen bites out, still sitting on his desk with a cold pack, pressed to his head.

"We'll figure that out after we catch it," Jack says, leaning down the stairwell. "Gwen! Get back up here!"

There's no reply.

"Gwen!" Jack shouts, rocketing down the stairs again and Jones follows.

"Go after them, I'll be fine," Owen hisses.

"And leave you alone up here with a hostile alien on the loose?" Tosh asks incredulously. "Like hell I will!"

Owen groans, and she presses a quick kiss to his mouth, smoothing her hands through his hair.

He presses his head to her shoulder and she brings her hand up to cup the back of his neck, glancing down at the stairs as she hears footsteps slowly work their way up.

Finally, she sees Jack and Jones' heads come up out of the stairwell, pulling Gwen along with them.

"Is she alright?" Tosh gasps, and Owen pushes himself off her shoulder to looks up with difficulty.

"Ughh," Gwen groans, conscious, but looking pretty disoriented. "My head... Just sort of, got behind me and..."

"Great!" Jones hisses as Jack helps Gwen sit down in her office chair. "That's two down. We've got to get a better plan."

"Gwen, are you alright?" Jack asks, cupping her face and forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Yeah," she nods dazedly, and slumps back into the chair, giving a pained groan.

"We need to draw it out," Jack says, straightening up and turning towards her. "Jones, stay here and guard Owen and Gwen. Tosh, with me."

"What?" Jones says, taken aback. "I'm pretty sure you'll need me to shoot it."

"You've just gotten knocked over the head," Jack tells him. "You're staying here, no arguments."

Jones looks livid, and opens his mouth to protest, but he's cut off before he can respond.

"Yes, you really mustn't argue," an unfamiliar female voice interrupts, and they all whirl around to find the source.

A tall, beautiful woman of African origin with short spiky hair leans almost casually against the arched brick wall right in between the med bay stairs and the couch.

"Who the hell are you?" Jack gapes, Webley pointed at her, but the woman doesn't even spare him a glance. Instead she seems to be looking right at Jones, who has gone deathly pale, mouth wide open in shock.

"Y-You're," he stutters, gun limp in his grip and eyes very wide.

The woman smiles, pushing herself off the wall and stepping forward. "Hello, _lover._"

He mouths wordlessly for a few seconds.

"You're dead," Jones finally chokes out and next to her, Owen swears softly.

"Oh, yes," she says, smiling predatorily at Jones and stepping forward, reaching out a hand to cup Jones' cheek. "I am very, _very_ dead."

Jones doesn't seem to be able to move. He stares at her, practically drinking her in, and Tosh has never seen him so open and unreserved.

"L-Lisa," he whispers brokenly, so softly she almost misses it. "You're can't-You can't be Lisa. She's dea..."

His hands, still holding his gun, twitch upward slightly, but ultimately don't make it above his waist.

"Oh, I am," the woman smiles, tilting her head slightly and withdrawing her hand. "And whose fault is that?"

Jones flinches, and she laughs, a beautiful sound that echos around the silent Hub, her hoop earrings jangling from side to side.

"Poor, poor Ianto," she murmurs, running her hands down the sides of her blouse and black pencil skirt in an inappropriately sexual manner. "You really are _pathetic_, aren't you?"

Jones seals his mouth shut and inhales sharply through his nose, only looking slightly less shell-shocked than before.

Tosh chances a glance at Jack and Gwen, both of whom are fixated on the scene playing out before them. Owen, too, is transfixed.

"Thing is," the woman who Jones called Lisa continues. "It didn't have to be this way, did it?"

Jones is still frozen in front of her, eyes oddly bright, even under the florescent lights.

"After all," she says quietly, leaning into whisper into Jones' ear. "You didn't have to kill me."

She angles back purposefully after that, but then Jones' face is changing, and he brings up his gun lightning fast to point the muzzle at her forehead.

"Get out," he says, enraged, "out of her form."

For the first time, the woman's smile falters. "What do you mean?"

"You," Jones spits out, face contorted in fury , "are _not_ Lisa Hallett."

"Of course I-"

"No," Jones cuts in. "No, you're not." His shoulders shake, and he inhales shakily.

"Because I didn't kill Lisa Hallett," he continues, fingers gripping so tightly on his gun that his knuckles are turning white. "She killed herself."

Tosh feels rather than sees Owen go very, very still beside her. Across the room Gwen's mouth drops slightly open and Jack looks thunderstruck. As it as, Tosh can barely think of what this means. It can't be true, can't possibly, because if it is-

The woman bites her lip, looking puzzled for a few seconds.

"Oh!" she exclaims, grinning brilliantly. "Oh, I see. I see it now! All those reports, all those files."

She puts her hands on her hips. "You _lied_, Ianto Jones," she says, rather like a parent would scold a child.

"Shut up!" Jones snarls, not moving out of his gun-ready position.

"You are a tricky one, aren't you?" she smiles, not seeming set back in the least. "So, so many layers. And all this time you've been-"

"Get. Out!" he shouts.

"Hush," she says softly, pressing a finger to his lips, and Jones tenses up even more than Tosh thought possible. "It's not polite to interrupt."

Jones doesn't appear to be able to move, just stands there, frozen, looking at the woman with impossibly wide eyes.

"All this time," she continues, circling around Jones while he stands completely still, gun still pointed at the empty space which she had vacated. "You've been lying...No, not lying, just-"

"Don't," Jones whispers, looking hopelessly broken, an expression that cannot be anything but wrong on his young face.

"You just," she says, pressing her hand to the back of his shoulder and leaning in against his back to whisper in his ear. "You just _let_ them think you killed her."

Jones shudders, inhaling sharply, eyes fixed on the large Torchwood sign on the wall at the back of the Hub, gun still held up frozen in place.

"Five years and you've just _let_ them despise you," she says flippantly, laughing under her breath. "You let them hate you because all you wanted," she says gleefully, walking her fingers up his upper arm, "was to be left alone. You're sick, you know that."

"Shut up," Jones growls, tightening his grip on his firearm.

"That does really complicate things though," she says casually, still circling. "I was really hoping to scare you a bit with this form, not immediately garner your suspicion. You had to mess everything up, though, didn't you?" she sighs. "You couldn't just tell everyone the truth, could y-'

"No," Jones snarls, whirling around to face her, "because when you've got your girlfriend's blood, and brains, and _pieces of her skull_ all over your face, you tend to be a bit too in shock to argue when they assume that you offed her yourself. And when they promote you," he persists, not just talking to the woman anymore, "you think _why not_, because it isn't as if it _matters_ anymore."

There is a pregnant pause and then she laughs, throwing her head back to the ceiling.

"Oh, your memories are _brilliant_," she giggles. "Perfectly gruesome. I think I might be able to work around this little complication. I haven't had this much fun with my food since before I came to this stinking planet."

"I said, get out of her form!" Jones shouts.

"Or what?" she laughs, not looking at all bothered. "You'll shoot me? It's doubtful."

"You have no fucking idea what I-"

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what you would or would not do, Ianto Jones," she smirks. "You not nearly as unfeeling as you pretend to be. And you won't shoot me, even though you know I'm not her, because you're _weak_."

"I-" Jones starts hoarsely.

"Just try it," she says casually, leaning against Tosh's empty workstation now. "I don't think you can."

Jones clenches his teeth together, face screwing up in concentration. He raises his gun, but his arms shake violently, something Tosh has never seen him do before, even a little.

Suddenly, Tosh knows beyond all shadow of a doubt that Jones will not do it. He physically _cannot _pull the trigger, and after the longest seconds of Tosh's life, she sees in his eyes that he realizes this too.

His gun clatters to the floor with a loud metal clang. Jones lets his arms fall to his sides, still shaking slightly.

"Just do it then," he says furiously. "Just bloody get it over with."

"Why so eager for death?" the alien mocks, her eyes darkening an fangs starting to sprout even as she speaks. "But unfortunately, I can't promise you it'll be fast."

She launches herself at Jones and slams him against the railing with superhuman stretch, fingernails transforming into claws as well. Another Nostrovite?

"No, you don't!" Jack shouts, galvanized into action. He fires two shots that hit the alien in the chest, and she lets out a scream of pain.

"You're next," she hisses, turning to him. "I'm getting off this miniscule planet and if I have to shred every one of you, so be it!"

"Over my dead body!" Jack snarls and she ducks behind Tosh's workstation to avoid his next shot.

"Tosh!" Jack yells and she fires as well, forcing the alien off platform.

"Is it dead?" Owen blurts out as Jack scrambles to look over the railing, Jones groaning at his feet.

There's a horrible shriek, and Jack pushes himself back as the woman, skin turning tan and scaly, leaps the five meter gap between the main level and the second level.

"Jesus fucking-" Jack shouts and fires head on into the alien, striking her right between the eyes.

She falls to the floor and lies motionless, black ooze pooling from the bullet wounds in her chest and head. Jack slowly lowers his gun.

"Right," Jack says, swallowing and running his hand through his hair in shock. "Umm..."

"Oh, God," Jones chokes, pulling himself to his feet using the railing, eyes fixed on the alien's body as it slowly changes into a short stubby creature with huge fangs and claws.

"Gwanzulum," Jack says slowly. "Shit."

"Gwanzu...what?" Gwen questions.

"They feed off the life-force of their victims, using their memories to take the shape of people they know to stay close to them while they feed," Jack murmurs. "They've been trapped on Adeki since the end of the Shaper Wars, but this one must have somehow-"

He trails off as he sees the look on Jones' pale face.

With difficulty, Jones has managed to stand, white as a sheet, and makes a horrid gagging noise.

"Jone-" Tosh starts, but he turns away, takes three strides across the floor and places both hands on the wall, retching all over his boots.

He gasps for breath, shoulders trembling, and it hurts just looking at him.

"Jones," Gwen starts, pity written all over her face.

"If you say anything," Jones gasps out, "_any_ of you, I swear to God I'll shoot you."

There is a long silence, only broken by the sound of Jones' deep breaths against the wall.

Finally he pushes himself off wall, stumbling a little backwards.

"Alright," he whispers to himself. "Okay. Alright."

He steels himself, straightening up and breathing deeply, eyes closed.

Jones takes two steps in the direction of the stairs, and then Jack is striding across the floor and grabbing him by his upper arms.

"Get off me," Jones hisses, eyes still shut. "Harkness, don't you dare-"

"Jones," Jack murmurs.

"Get the fuck off me, Hark-" Jones reaches out to push Jack away, but just ends up gripping his shoulders, face contorting in grief. "Jack, Jack, _please, _Jack, don't, please just let-"

Jack gets an awful look on his face and pulls him in, one arm around Jones' back, the other forcing his face into his shoulder.

Jones makes a horrible noise against his coat, shaking like a leaf, but doesn't protest.

"Shh, shh," Jack whispers, pressing a kiss to Jones' temple, looking nearly as upset as Gwen who has at least one tear-trail down her cheek. "You're okay, you're fine, shh."

Jones just gasps for breath, heaving breaths with an element of a sob, and mumbles something incoherent.

"Okay, alright," Jack says quietly, copying Jones' early words and looking devastatingly broken. "Just breathe, okay, just breathe."

He clenches the back of Jones' vest, looping his arm around his neck to tug him closer, murmuring words that are meant to be soothing. Jones doesn't give any indication that hears him, but he lets Jack grip him tightly for a long, long time.

Eventually, when Jones has stopped hyperventilating, Jack takes him home. They all sit, completely silent, unable to even clean up on the alien's body until Jack returns.

The alarm sounds and the cog door rolls open, lights flashing, and they turn slowly to watch Jack walk unenthusiastically up the stairs to the second level. He looks exhausted and wretched, and makes for his office without comment.

"Jack?" Owen says hesitantly, standing up and tossing the cold pack onto his desk. "What...what happened?"

Jack reluctantly looks back at him, clearly not in the mood to talk.

"I took him home," he says shortly. "He's a mess."

"No," Owen continues faintly. "I mean here. I mean what-what just _happened_ here?"

Jack doesn't say anything.

"Jack, it doesn't," Gwen says, rubbing her eyes, looking ill despite her tan,"Because it doesn't...what just...I can't...I don't-"

"So he didn't kill her," Owen clarifies, talking more to himself than Jack. "She kills herself and what? London just assumes-of course they'd assume he...but he says nothing? He just lets them thin-Right, shock. He doesn't say anything, because he can't, but later on he...he just goes with it?"

"Oh, God," Tosh murmurs, feeling sick.

"But it doesn't make-you said she went rogue," Gwen adds, wrapping her arms around herself. "My first day here, you told me his girlfriend went rogue and he..."

"Lisa Hallett was a scientist," Jack says tersely. "Worked in Scientific Development. I talked...he said she must've gotten exposed to some kind of parasite there. Sort of like the thing that possessed Carys, except way, way worse. Holed herself up in the research library and killed half of Jones' colleagues before he found her."

"Library," Owen murmurs under his breath and Tosh would ask, but suddenly a horrible thought occurs to her.

"You mean," Tosh whispers, figuring it out first. "He found her and _then_ she...right in front of...Oh, God."

"What?" Gwen turns to her, looking confused.

Tosh can't say it.

"The parasite didn't kill Lisa Hallett," Jack says quietly. "She really did kill herself. But not because she went rogue, that's just how London interpreted it later, but because she must've known she'd kill Jones too."

Gwen muffles a shocked sound behind her hand and Owen inhales sharply. Jack looks very, _very_ old.

"Three years," Owen whispers in horror. "Three _years_ he's been working here and we never...we thought..."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Tosh asks softly, thinking back to all the times that she'd tried to start a conversation with Jones over coffee, after he'd saved her life at the Beacons, but he'd always shrugged her off.

"He said," Jack says with a wry, cheerless smile. "He said it wasn't any of our business."

"Christ," Owen says under his breath after a few seconds. "He-"

"Did you know?" Gwen interrupts, looking at Jack. "Did you _know _and you let us go on treatin-"

Jack looks confused. "What? No!" he interjects, looking shocked at her accusation. "How could I have-You think if I'd known I would have-"

He cuts himself off before he gets into a tirade.

"No," he says calmly after a few seconds. "I didn't know."

"But why-" Gwen continues. "At the hospital you said-"

"You accused him of trying to commit suicide," Tosh finishes, looking at Jack for answers now. "You never did explai-"

"I didn't know," Jack repeats, unwilling to explain his actions. "I swear to you I. Did. Not. Know."

Tosh looks down at her feet, inexplicably ashamed. No, she knows why. Because Jack, who always takes things so personally, is taking this harder than any of them.

"We need to clean this up," Jack says, looking coldly down at the alien's body.

Tosh goes and gets the mop.

* * *

><p>Two days later, Jones comes back to work. He comes in earlier than everyone else as usual and by the time Jack Harkness wakes up he has reorganized the archives, made coffee, and straightened up the Hub.<p>

"When I said take a couple days off, I meant more than two," Jack says with a certain amount of déjà vu, leaning against the railing outside his office and looking down at Jones, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Couple," Jones rattles off, voice sounding like he hasn't spoken in a while. "Noun. An indefinite small amount, commonly associated with the number two."

Jack's hands tighten on the railing, restraining himself from saying something he might regret.

"Are you alright, Jones?" he asks suddenly, watching him closely.

Jones pauses halfway in picking up an empty plastic cup and looks up at him, just_ looks_ at him. Jack's next breath catches in his throat.

"It's been five years," Jones says, after a pause that goes on a little too long. "I'm fine."

Jack doesn't believe that for a second.

"It's been two days now," Jack says purposefully. "And I'm asking you, are you _alright_?"

"What are you going to do if I say no?" Jones asks in disdain. "Send me home again? Take away my guns _just in case_?"

"Should I?" Jack asks, not because he wants to, but because _he has to_.

Jones gives a dismissive snort. "Please. If I was going to eat a gun, I would've done it years ago."

Oddly enough, this does barely anything to assuage Jack's worries.

"And then you go and say things like that," Jack says, crossing his arms across his chest, partly to stop his hands from shaking. "I'm not asking you if you'll do your job properly, because I know you will, you always do. I'm not asking you as your boss or colleague. I'm asking you if _you are alright_?"

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Jones responds simply, as if his question is a mere annoyance and that _hurts_.

It takes Jack a couple seconds to figure out why, he's so shocked at the pain. It's not that he himself is insulted by Jones' flippancy, but it hurts because Jones doesn't think whether he's alright or not even _matters_. Because despite the fact that Jack wants him, so much-_wanted him back on the Valiant, wanted him before he knew the truth about Lisa Hallett, wants him _now- despite everything, Jones is a _person_. He is a twenty-five year old kid, not a tool, not a means to an end, not a _thing_. If Jack has learned anything from his experiences with the Doctor, anything from being alive for over one hundred and seventy-four years, anything from Rose and Gwen, it's that you don't just cast _people_ aside like that, don't ignore their suffering, their _humanity_. Jack's not perfect, he is nowhere _near_ perfect and he can't be everywhere at once, but Jones is Torchwood, one of _his_ people, and even if he didn't want to he's _obligated_ to care about him, it's his_ responsibility. _If he doesn't own up to it there will only be more Alexes and Suzies, and Jack doesn't think he could stand it if that happened to Jones.

But before he can articulate any of this, the alarm and lights start up and the cog door rolls open. They both turn to look at the door as Toshiko steps through. She goes very, very white when she sees Jones.

"I-" she starts, but Jones gives her an irritated glance and turns away abruptly. Jack watches him closely as he heads towards the garage and slips out of sight.

Tosh gives him a wide-eyed look. "Oh, God, what...what do I _say_?"

Jack's mouth tightens into a straight line and he shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

Both Gwen and Owen have similar reactions when they come in a see Jones, and he ignores them in pretty much the same way as he had Tosh.

_ You let them hate you because all you wanted was to be left alone_ echoes in his mind and he reluctantly acknowledges the statement's truth. He doesn't want it to be true, he wants to be able to _do_ something, but he can't. Jones doesn't want help, maybe doesn't even need it at all, so Jack will just have to wait and watch.

Everything is unnaturally awkward for a while, and Jack doesn't even _do_ awkward. The rest of the team keeps alternating between trying to be ridiculously nice to Jones and pretending everything is completely normal. Jack tries the latter, really,_ really_ tries, but he can't compete with Jones, who's almost _overly_ mature attitude towards the whole debacle is really starting to irritate him. Mostly Jones just ignores them all, a strategy that Jack recognizes as him trying to fade into the background, so he can lurk around in the darkness again as if their revelation that he is _not _a psychotic murderer never happened. But that is unacceptable. Jack will not overlook Jones again, will not let him distance himself from them anymore. Maybe he can't force Jones out into the open just yet, but he will be waiting until the opportunity presents itself. In the meantime, he can be patient and shrewd if he has to.

It's business as usual for a while after that, at least as 'business as usual' as working at Torchwood can be. They catch more Weevils, Jack sends yet another person to Flat Holm, and they nearly choke to death when all the automobiles with ATMOS devices goes haywire and starts spewing toxic gas that nearly blankets the entire country.

"Pretty much every urban area's a complete mess," Jones reads off computer. "The UN's issued a statement telling people to stay indoors or away from urban areas, fat load of good that's going to do. Oh, and look at America," he says with an inappropriate amount of glee. "They're practically drowning in it. Must be all those gas-guzzling SUVs, _oh, wait_, doesn't that sound _familiar_."

"I'm trying to fix it!" Tosh protests, adjusting her gas mask as she prepares to brave the garage once more.

"Stop being such a bitch, Jones," Owen says without thinking and then freezes and shares a wide-eyed look with Gwen.

"Can you see what's happening in Newport?" Rhys asks worriedly, hovering over Jones' shoulder because Gwen _insisted_ the he come along and threw a hissy fit when anyone dared disagree that had even Jones backing down.

"_Don't_ touch the computer!" Jack yells from the balcony, which probably was slightly unnecessary.

"Shut _up_, Jack," Gwen tells him nastily. "Rhys, don't worry, as long as your mum and dad stay indoors like you told them too, they'll be fine. We'll fix it, you'll see."

"Yeah, how is that again?" Rhys asks, glaring up at him. "I don't see 'im doing anything."

"Well, what do you suggest, Mr. Caveman?" Jack glowers back.

"Jack," Gwen interrupts before Rhys embarrasses himself trying to think of a comeback (of course) "What did UNIT say?"

"They're 'working' on it," Jack grumbles, complete with finger quotes.

"Oh,_ UNIT'_s working on it," Jones quips sarcastically. "I feel so much better now."

"What's UNIT again?" Rhys questions.

"What about Martha?" Gwen asks, ignoring Rhys' question. "Did you get a hold of her?"

Jack shakes his head. "Keep getting her voice-mail. Makes sense, though. She must be really busy."

Jones gives another snort of laughter at a statistic that comes up on the computer and Jack opens his mouth to yell at him because it's really _not funny_, but then Tosh bursts back into the Hub, gasping for breath.

"Tosh!" Owen shouts, bolting over to rip off the gas mask and inspect her face carefully.

"I'm fine," she says, batting his hands away. "But it's no good, Jack. It's technology I've never seen before and even if I had, I can't see a bloody thing in that garage, the smoke's too dense."

"Great," Jones snarls, spinning in the office chair to glare up at him. "Whose fucking idea was the SUV, anyway?"

"Alex Hopkins'," Jack replies furiously, but immediately regrets it when he sees Jones go pale, signifying that he knows who the man is, and more importantly, the circumstances of his death.

"Jack, the gas levels are at 66% and climbing!" Owen yells. "We don't have much time!"

Jack breaks eye-contact with Jones and starts to feel frantic for the first time since this entire thing began. This isn't supposed to happen. Humans _cannot_ be wiped out this way. This isn't the way history goes.

"If we all die because of humanity's obsession with automobiles and GPS," he hears Jones mutter. "I'm going to be very annoyed."

This does not help his mood.

In the end, the Doctor saves them all for the millionth time, so Martha explains, sounding strangely weary. The Sontarans (Jack should've known, the militaristic _trolls_, and he means that quite literally) have been blown to bits, humanity is safe, and after ascertaining that Alice and Steven are alright, Jack doesn't even bother to argue with Rhys' sudden desire for drinks.

"Oi, you coming?" he turns to ask Jones, refusing to let him sit in the dark alone-_God, he hadn't even followed when they'd all gone outside to marvel at the cleanliness of the air_- if he doesn't have to.

Jones stares at him blankly for a second, looking honestly confused.

"I don't drink," he says coldly then and turns away, receding back into the darkness.

But this time, Jack watches him go.

Later that night, Jack returns to the Hub, just a bit tipsy, to find Jones typing up a report, most likely on the day's events.

"You're ridiculous," Jack tells him. "The entire planet almost suffocated on alien poison gas. What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking to see if the chemical composition of the gas is similar to anything we've ever encountered before," Jones replies without bothering to look up.

He makes another few keystrokes and frowns at the monitor. Without comment, he stands, and makes his way up the stairs and into Jack's office.

Jack follows him,vaguely interested, only to find Jones rifling through his filing cabinets with the confidence of someone who is quite familiar with their contents.

"And you're in my office because...?" Jack questions, leaning against the door, slightly annoyed.

"Your files have information that isn't in our database."

Jack scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. "And how do you know that?"

Jones straightens and rolls his eyes at him before dumping several folders onto his desk and moving on to the next cabinet.

He bends down to pick the lock on the bottom drawer, and Jack eyes his arse appreciatively, letting his gaze wander over Jones' trousers pulled tight over his thighs and the strong curve of his upper arms beneath the under armour.

_Maybe_, he considers, mouth going a tad dry.

"You're_ insatiable_,"Jack tells him pointedly, shrugging out his coat and tossing it at the coat stand. It doesn't really fall exactly the way it should, but Jack's got more important things to be focusing on right now.

Jones gives a grunt that acknowledges Jack's statement, but equally demonstrates his utter disinterest in having a conversation with him. But that's okay. Conversation isn't imperative for what Jack has in mind.

"Really," Jack continues casually, crossing his arms again and letting his head tilt against the wood of the door frame as well. "Your work ethic could make even the most dedicated PA burst into tears."

"I'll be sure to test that out sometime, sir," Jones says obliviously, the true meaning of Jack's words going right over his head.

"As amusing as that would be," Jack says deliberately. "I think you could use your considerable talents in a much more _enjoyable_ capacity."

"Are you drunk?" Jones inquires, giving him an odd look, but continues with his work.

"Not really," Jack says truthfully, wondering how Jones would react if he just swiped his hand under his skintight shirt, right above the waistband of his trousers, and pressed his body against Jones' back. "Not enough to have problems getting _up_ anyway."

"Okay..." Jones says distractedly, _still not getting it._

It's not that he's naïve, Jack thinks, watching him pile more ancient file folders on his desk. Jones is _anything_ but naïve. It's just that his daily life is so far removed from so many basic parts of ordinary peoples', in this case, sex. All jokes aside, Jack's somewhat of an expert when it comes to sex, at least compared to anyone native to the 21st century. He's good at sex, he understands it, understands people and sex, and as a natural extension of this he can tell with quite a lot certainty what other people's sex lives are like. And Jones, Jack can tell, not counting their brief liaison two years ago, has not gotten laid since before he came to Cardiff, maybe not even since Lisa died. It simply doesn't cross his mind that Jack might be flirting with him, because if Jack's correct, Jones has treated sex with the same sort of avoidance and/or denial that he does all human relations for five years now.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me?" Jones asks in irritation after a few seconds, probably getting a little creeped out.

"I am rather enjoying myself," Jack leers, giving him a comprehensive once-over.

Jones stops rummaging around in Jack's filing cabinet drawer and turns around slowly, quirking an eyebrow. He gets it now, but he's not reacting like Jack expected he would. There is no disgust or contempt, but rather, _amusement_.

"Subtlety doesn't suit you," Jones tells him after a beat, completely composed. But he doesn't turn back to his work.

Jack steps forward swiftly, slipping both hands around Jones' waist, pressing him slowly and deliberately against the file cabinet with a dull metal clunk. Jones' eyelids lower a fraction, but otherwise his expression does not change. He looks right back at Jack without any hint of surprise or embarrassment.

"This clear enough for you?'" Jack asks lowly, slowly smoothing his palms up and down Jones' sides and hips.

Jones lets out a soft puff of air in amusement, which quickly changes into a sharp inhale as Jack's hands come in contact with his arse and it's fucking _brilliant._ Jack is _so_ going to make him scream.

"It's very likely," Jones responds huskily, looking very, _very_ interested.

Jack leans in purposefully then, shifting his head diagonally for better access to Jones' mouth, but the other man's fingers grasp his chin and stop him dead.

Almost contemplatively, Jones straightens Jack's head with a slight twist of his his wrist, mouth slanting in a not-quite smile. Then, his fingers still on Jack's chin, he tilts his head slightly to the side and kisses him.

And this, _this_, is what Jack has been waiting for, what he's been obsessing over for months now. He grips Jones' hips tightly and deepens the kiss, feeling Jones shiver as their tongues come into contact. He doesn't taste like metal or gunpowder this time, but like his brilliant coffee, his mouth still warm from the drink. He smells great too, aftershave and a hint of old paper from his private archives, no doubt, and for some reason that really, _really _turns him on. Jack slides his hands around the small of Jones back, desperate for closer contact.

Almost carefully, Jones brings up his other hand to clench Jack's shoulder, sliding his thumb under his left brace and Jack groans, shoving him further against the cabinet, their bodies flush against each other, Jones' arm halfway down his back now.

Jones breaks the kiss, moving to his jawline and neck, pressing light kisses with _teeth_ behind them everywhere he can reach that has Jack arching to bare his throat. He's a bit rusty, and not nearly as vocal as Jack has always thought (well, fantasized) he'd be, but the former can be fixed just as soon as Jack eases him into it again, and the latter, well, Jack can ease him into that too.

He pushes his hands through Jones' short hair briefly, before letting his hands slide down his vest, dragging the zipper with him.

"Forward, aren't we?" Jones mutters against the juncture where his jaw meets his neck.

"Someone told me I should quit being so subtle," Jack responds, slipping his hands between the lapels of his vest to caress his way up his abdomen and chest.

"Since when do you-" Jones starts, but Jack grabs his jaw, forcing him away from his neck and cuts him off with a frantic kiss.

Jones groans into it, hand tightening on his shoulder, all tight muscles and firm tongue. Jack starts to imagine what he'd sound like if he bent him over his desk, or maybe pushed him right up against the file cabinet and _took _him, thumbing the hem of his under armour shirt and pushing it up just a couple centimeters. Jones goes stiff and lets his arm and fingers fall from Jack's chin and shoulder, gently pushing his shirt down, but he waits a couple seconds before breaking the kiss.

"Not a pretty sight," Jones tells him softly, and it takes Jack a few seconds to realize that he's referring to the scars on his chest.

Jones is kissing him again before he can think of what his words means, pressing both hands to his shoulders and then suddenly he spins him around, and now it's Jack who's pressed against the file cabinet.

There's a predatory look in his eyes, and Jones smirks now, a quirk of his mouth that goes straight to Jack's groin. Jack jerks him forward with the lapels of his vest, looping an arm around his neck, and works his mouth open again, wanting and wanting and _wanting._

He's so distracted by Jones' warm mouth and tongue, the hard line of his body against his, and thinking up the ways he can get the other man out of his clothes, that he doesn't realize that Jones has gone for his belt until he hears the clink of it being undone.

Surprised at his, well, forwardness, Jack breaks the kiss and looks down, half-expecting the noise to have been a figment of his imagination. But it's not and then Jones is slowly pulling the belt out of its loops, the leather wicked against his palms.

He folds it in two with one hand, watching Jack's face carefully and Jack raises an eyebrow challengingly as Jones reaches out out to play with the top few buttons of his shirt.

Raising his arm adjacent to his body, an oddly striking motion for such an unassuming man, Jones drops the belt with a clang as the metal comes in contact with the floor. He presses his mouth to Jack's in a chaste kiss, batting his hands away as Jack tries desperately to pull him in for more, and drops to his knees.

But even as Jack groans at the promise of fucking that pretty mouth, he realizes that this is just another of Jones' evasive games. Jones has distanced himself from Jack for years now and Jack has little doubt that Jones plans to give him head and then try to fade into the background again. Try being the operative word, because Jack's not going to give up with a fight. This isn't what he wants right now, he wants to feel Jones' skin, wants to feel him against him, wants him _with _him. Jones is an idiot if he thinks he can hide from Jack forever, and even more than an idiot if he thinks Jacks cares about his marred torso. (He shags _aliens, _for God's sake. Does Jones really think he's picky about insignificant details like _scars_?)

Without a word of warning, Jack drags him up off his knees and shoves him at his desk. Jones lets out a shocked yelp as he collides with the heavy oak, scattering paperwork everywhere and looking furious. Jacks advances on him with a purpose, kissing him roughly, forcing him open with his tongue and teeth, hearing him moan helplessly. He pushes off the black vest that he _knows_ Jones uses to hide behind and Jones grips his shoulders desperately, kissing his mouth again and again. He pushes him back gently so he's forced to sit on the desk and then swats aside Jones' knees to stand in-between his thighs. Then, with Jones sufficiently distracted, he yanks up the skintight top as far as it can go without Jones lifting up his arms.

"There," Jack says seriously, locking eyes with Jones. "Gorgeous."

Jones gives him an unreadable look, meaning he's all too coherent for his taste.

It's Jack's turn to drop to his knees now, still holding Jones' gaze which has widened slightly with alarm. He lets his hands slide down the other man's sides, careful to keep his shirt from falling back down. Jack leans in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to tip of one of the long gashes on his abdomen, smiling against it when Jones lets out a shuddering breath, propping himself up on the heels of his hands. He moves up the gash slowly, lapping at the thin curve and scrapping his teeth against his skin, stretched taut over muscle. In other circumstances he might be vaguely annoyed that Jones is in better shape than him, but at the moment he's a bit too busy kissing and sucking at the bullet scar right under his lower right rib to bother, all the while his eyes never leaving Jones'.

Jones' breath hitches as Jack's fingers find the bullet scar on his left hip, trailing his mouth up Jones' sternum as he strokes the scarred flesh.

"Having fun?" Jones asks sarcastically as Jack pushes up the shirt further to reveal his nipples, hard and delicious looking, but he gives no indication that he wants Jack to stop, and considering the state of the front of his trousers, quite the opposite really.

"Yes, actually," Jack leers, rubbing the left nub between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying the way Jones' cheeks flush and his eyes darken.

He presses his mouth to the spot just above his other nipple and feels rather than hears Jones groans as he trails down and sucks the nub into his mouth. He swirls his tongue and Jones pushes forward, his voice getting a breathy quality to it that makes Jack dizzy with lust. He pulls away with an obscene popping noise and Jones leans forward and tries to pull Jack's face back up to his.

But Jack cants back, grinning wickedly. All in due time, _definitely_, but first he's going to get what he wants.

"Tease," Jones accuses, a ridiculous and completely hypocritical notion on his part.

"Off," Jack demands with an arch of his brow, raising the under armour shirt again.

This time Jones complies, lifting his arms so Jack can toss the shirt over his shoulder, giving him a withering look that is totally out of place when he's shirtless on Jack's desk, but at the same time it's so utterly_ him,_ it's mad.

Jack stands then, sliding his hands over Jones' chest like he's wanted too for _so_ fucking long, slightly amused at the wary look on his face. He leans in to kiss him again, and Jones almost casually shucks his braces off his shoulders, the sneaky bastard. He pulls out his shirttails as well, kiss turning harsh and desperate, and Jack presses as close as possible to him as Jones attempts to get his shirt open. He wonders how Jones would react if he just shoved him down onto the piles of paperwork on his desk and clambered over him. Probably not well, but by the way Jones is digging his nails into his shoulders and pushing his hands under Jack's undershirt, something's going to give, and soon.

Jack places a hand on the small of Jones' back and grinds their hips together, biting at Jones' jawline as he lets out a whimpering gasp that's just _perfect_.

"Come to bed with me," Jack murmurs into his ear.

Jones does.

He's strange in bed, a perfect dichotomy of want and reluctance, control and ardor. Jack is pretty sure he's never slept with a man before, but Jones is just casual enough about the entire affair that he wouldn't bet on it. Still, the satisfaction of getting Jones on his back for him lasts for days, and Owen keeps giving him weird looks and asking him why he's grinning so much. Unfortunately, he doesn't exactly get Jones to scream for him (just moan incoherently, he thinks smugly,) but, hey, there's always next time.

"And you think there's going to be a next time because...?" Jones asks him, well, the next time, pulling on his trousers.

"Well, the evidence is certainly telling," Jack gestures self-assuredly, lounging back against the headboard, the sheets draped perilously over his naked hips.

Jones gives him a dry, unimpressed look.

"C'mon," Jack says gamely, sitting up to get a better view of his arse as he bends over to pick up is shirt. Now if only he wasn't putting his clothes _on. "_You certainly enjoyed yourself. What's the problem?"

"You're a bit cocky, aren't you?" Jones replies, shaking out his shirt.

Jack opens his mouth.

"Don't you dare, Harkness," Jones warns, scowling.

"_I_ was just going to say that I'm merely confident in my own unique skill set," Jack says haughtily. "You wound me with your false accusations."

"That's not all I'm going to wound you with," Jones mutters under his breath.

"Oh, _punish_ me, Mr. Jones," Jack moans wantonly, squirming around under the sheets of the camp bed.

"Don't you have _any_ shame?" Jones asks, not appearing the least bit aroused by Jack's display, just embarrassed. Which is rather cute, despite not being exactly the reaction Jack had in mind.

"What's there to be ashamed of?" Jack replies facetiously, glancing down at his groin pointedly.

"As usual, your modesty astounds me," Jones says archly, giving that familiar disdainful look which at this point sort of turns Jack on.

"Oh, stop, don't flatter me," Jack says in a sarcastic tone. "I might not be able to resist your thinly veiled contempt."

Except he's actually _not being sarcastic_. The more Jones glares, the more Jack wants him back in his bed, on his hands and knees and moaning into his pillow.

Well, the last part he can dream about, because Jones is more than a bit of a prude, but the first is not completely unattainable.

"You're awfully keen to leave," Jack pouts, moving to sit on the side of the bed and watching Jones pull on his shirt.

Jones lets out a noncommittal grunt and Jack narrows his eyes, annoyed. He reaches out and grabs the shirt before Jones can pull it over his head, yanking it down Jones' arms and constraining his wrists.

"Did it ever occur to you I might have something important to do now?" Jones asks coldly, not pleased at this turns of events.

"Oh, it's occurred to me," Jack says lecherously, drawing him in to stand in-between his legs with a tug and the fact that Jones refuses to let go of the shirt.

He gives Jones a lusty grin. "Me."

"Unfortunately," Jones drawls, as Jack releases the shirt and places his hands lightly on his hips. "My schedule's all full up at the moment. Perhaps I can pencil you in for next week."

"Oh, ho," Jack says triumphantly. "So there is a next time."

Jones just looks at him, stiff and uncomfortable under his touch, and so very, _very_ serious.

"Maybe," he says vaguely after a long silence and but that isn't bloody good enough.

Without warning, Jack grabs him and pulls him closer.

Jones eyes widen in surprise, and he brings his arms up automatically to protect his face. The block causes Jack to pause and reconsider his strategy, even as Jones lowers his arms, belatedly realizing that Jack isn't going to hit him.

"Is that a usual reaction for you?" Jack asks carefully, stroking Jones' sides soothingly.

"Considering the nature of my job," Jones replies, answering without answering. He doesn't move from his awkward position, knees on either side of Jack's thighs, practically in his lap.

Jack kisses him gently, bringing up a hand to touch Jones' neck, but Jones shoves him to the bed.

"No," he says irately, placing a hand on Jack's chest to stop him from getting up. "Properly."

Jack pushes him to the side, lightning quick, and straddles him. "And how would that be?" he questions soberly, but then Jones apparently cannot resist him anymore (it's the jawline) and he's kissing Jack furiously, rough and greedy, and Jack never gets an answer.

"Cooper's not going to stop snooping about, you know," Jones says conversationally afterward, as they lie on their backs waiting to regain their breaths. He sounds disturbing less affected than Jack would like.

"What?" Jack groans, too exhausted to make sense of his words.

"Sooner or later she's going to find out about your little island," Jones tells him casually, forearms tucked neatly under his head. "You might as well spare yourself the drama and tell her."

Jack goes stiff, turning his head towards Jones warily.

"How do you know about Flat Holm?" he asks sharply.

Jones rolls his eyes at the ceiling, not even sparing him a glance. "I know everything," he says loftily.

Jack doesn't have anything to say to that, just watches him breathe, a burgeoning suspicion in the black of his mind that maybe he's getting in over his head here.

* * *

><p>It's four in the afternoon on a rather lovely Sunday in late spring, and Owen Harper bolts upright in bed.<p>

"Bugger," he mumbles, rubbing a hand blearily over his eyes.

"Mmfm," Tosh groans next to him, burying her face in his pillow. "What is it?"

"I left the singularity scalpel on."

Tosh rolls over and opens her eyes. "And that's..."

"Bad," Owen finishes, taking the time to admire her bare breasts despite the awful feeling in his gut, because, well, they are rather fantastic. "The slightest vibration in the wrong frequency could cause it to blow something up. Christ, I only put it down for a minute cos Jack distracted me with those stupid crisps he keeps insisting cannot be be made on Earth."

Tosh gives a soft giggle as he gets out of bed, pulling on his trousers.

"Can't you just-" she starts, reaching for him.

"No, no, no, explosions and destruction and Jack will _murder_ me. It'll just take half an hour."

"But, it's Sunday," Tosh explains, sitting up and letting the sheets fall to her waist which is _really not helping_. "You've left it there since Fridays night and the world hasn't ended, so _statistically speaking_ it's unlikely-"

Owen groans, scanning the room for his shirt. "Don't tempt me with your siren song, woman! I really just have to...er...wow, that's...I mean, that's rather-Mmph, ah...maybe just a quicki-_fuck, Tosh!_"

"I really, _really_, have to go now," Owen pants half an hour later, caressing the soft skin of her back.

"Yeah, I know," she smiles. "Couldn't make it _too_ easy for you, though."

Owen kisses her shoulder blade quickly and rolls off the bed before his body gets any other ideas.

"You fine staying here?" he asks, grabbing his leather jacket and keys.

"I'll take a shower and get the bus home," Tosh says and then pauses, biting her lip nervously. "Unless, you wanna meet somewhere afterward..."

"Sure, we can get lunch, or, er...dinner," Owen says, pretending not to notice her timidity. "How about the Tandoori place?"

She beams. "Sounds good," she says cheerfully.

He leans over the bed to kiss her once more. "Mm, meet you at the Castle Arcade, okay?"

He parks his car near the Plass and makes his way into the dusty Tourist Centre, leaning over the counter to hit the button that opens the secret door and hoping that the scalpel hasn't destroyed anything yet. The lights are on in the Hub, which is a little unusual, but maybe Jack just got back from whatever he does on the weekends. Owen goes to the med lab and sighs in relief as he finds it intact. He turns off the scalpel carefully, putting it back in his case and is scanning the small room just in case there are any other surprises when he hears footsteps on the floor above.

"Just me, Jack!" he calls, climbing up the stairs. "Just forgot to turn off...you're not Jack."

"No," Jones says, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "No, I'm not."

Owen gives him a weird look. He's not wearing the usual black ops gear, and while he supposes it is the weekend, Owen has still only seen him in civilian clothing a couple times; Gwen's wedding and whenever they had an emergency that he didn't have time to change. Of course, they could hardly be called street clothes; a light blue dress shirt, navy jacket, and khakis. Jones looks like he had just stepped out of a high end men's catalog, the socially inept freak.

"Just checking to see if everything was in order," Owen says slowly, noticing that Jones' hair is wet, as if he just got out of the shower. "Did something happen with the Rift?" he asks gesturing to Jones' hair. It's the only reason he can think of that Jones would take a shower here and annoyance that Jack didn't think that he and Tosh needed to be in on it, despite the great time they were having, tickles at his consciousness.

Jones' hand jumps up, uncharacteristically nervous, to touch it.

"No, just finishing some paperwork," he replies carefully, hand dropping down to his side, and usually Owen would believe that, but something about the man's demeanor throws him off.

"Right," Owen says suspiciously, wondering if he should be worried.

Jones forces a smile. "See you tomorrow then," and he turns to exit, revealing a small red mark on the back of his neck, right above his collar.

Owen stares.

Oh. No way. _No way_.

"Jack and Jones are shagging," is the first thing he says after dropping his bag at his desk the next morning.

"What?" Gwen gasps, looking at him as if he's gone mad.

Tosh rolls her eyes. "Don't bother to try and talk him out of it," she tells Gwen. "He's convinced."

"He had a bloody _hickey_, I _saw_ it!"

"That could have been anything," Tosh says reasonably.

"He had just taken a shower," Owen continues, undeterred. "He was all awkward and wearing normal person clothes. They. Are. Shagging."

"Jack and _Jones_?" Gwen questions, her face scrunching up. "I dunno, Owen, I can't really picture it."

"I didn't say it made sense," Owen says, glancing over his shoulder just in case either of their coworkers are in the area. "But Jack's been odd, right? Ever since we found out Jones wasn't a crazy murder-"

"Owen!" Gwen admonishes, looking as self-righteous as she did when she confronted Jack about the Flat Holm island hospice of mental people that he had apparently been hiding from them for years.

"I could see Jack," Tosh says suddenly, looking as if she just remembered something. "But I don't think Jones would...you know...go for it."

"Really?" Gwen questions in the same disbelieving tone when Owen suggested their boss was gay. "You think Jack would...?"

"I don't think there's a man, woman, or alien alive he wouldn't stick his cock in," Owen says bluntly and both Gwen and Tosh wince. "What? You know it's true."

"Probably," Jones says behind them, and they all whirl around.

He looks amused, and Owen realizes with relief that he probably only heard the last part of their conversation.

"But I fail to see the relevance of that," he continues. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Yes!" Tosh says quickly. "Got to...uh...do a sweep for UNIT, er...special MI5...alien devices..." She hurries back to her workstation, Jones giving her a strange look as she goes. "Okay..." he says, clearly not understanding why she's so flustered, and turns to head up to Jack's office.

Owen gives Gwen a pointed look, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright," she concedes. "It's _possible _Jack might...but I still don't think-"

"Bet you ten quid they're fucking each other."

Gwen scowls at his brusqueness,"Done."

But he doesn't get the time to prove them wrong, because then they all nearly get blown up by Jack's lovely ex-Time Agent partner John Hart who is unfortunately not dead. By some miracle they all manage to survive, despite some broken bones and bruises. Gwen and Rhys go to help out the coppers, Jones and Tosh to the central sever building and he goes to St. Helen's. Jack plans to try and reason with Hart, which is never going to happen, but they don't have enough time to think of anything else, and it's not like Jack can die permanently.

The hospital's almost a complete waste of time, there was a Hoix, but one of the doctor's locked it in the basement, so he just sedates it. And then Hart, the psychopathic fuck, blows up half of Cardiff and that's when Owen realizes that this is not going to be contained.

"Fifteen major explosions, at strategic points across the city," Tosh explains over the slight white noise of the comm. "There's currently a surge in traffic, trying to leave the city but the explosions have cut off all major routes in and out. Landlines, mobile phones and IT networks all down, TV and radio off air. He's completely crippled us, Gwen."

"Shit," she hisses.

"Not wanting to be the harbinger of doom," Jones says seriously, "but the systems which serve theTurnmill nuclear plant have all gone off-line."

"Right," Gwen continues as Owen blindly makes his way up the stairs, only to find that it's completely dark on the main floor as well. "Tosh, Jones, you have to stabilize the nuclear power station, make that a priority. Owen, what's it like at the hospital?"

"Lost all power," Owen snarls, pushing through a pair of double doors and starts to make a list of the best way he's going to kill Hart when he gets his hands on him. "The backup generators gave out in the blast. Every single machine in this hospital is down. It's a bloody disaster."

Then Gwen's got Hart helping them all of the sudden, trying to find Jack who's been buried somewhere, but it doesn't seem to be working and there's no _time_!

Tosh and Jones can't stop the meltdown remotely, so they have to go to the plant themselves. There's a brief hitch because of the Weevils that have suddenly appeared out of this air, but then Jones starts shooting, a lot, (how many rounds does the man _have_?) and suddenly Owen's not so worried anymore.

There's nothing he can do at the hospital, and he hates that feeling, hates knowing that people are going to die, but he has a job to do. Owen makes his way back to the Hub, cursing Hart because if the bastard hurts Tosh anymore than he already has, or Jack, or Gwen, or, hell, even Jones, he'll rip him apart with his bare hands.

"Jones?" he questions, nearly running into him in the tiny Tourist office. "I thought you were with Tosh!"

"She said she could handle it herself," Jones says, gun out, Weevil scratches on his face and arms. "I don't trust Hart."

"Me neither," Owen says and they make their way down the passageway. The cog door rolls open, and they find Hart and Gwen surrounded by Weevils. Jones fires several times, and they fall, but he ignores them, striding furiously up towards Hart.

"You son of a bitch," he starts raising his gun, but Gwen grabs his arm.

"Jones, don't-" she starts, but then Hart's face is morphing into fury and before Owen can shout out a warning he pistol-whips him in the temple, _hard_.

Jones goes down, slumping to the floor, unconscious, and Owen raises his gun to Hart's head.

"What the bleeding hell was that for?" he shouts, the last vestiges of his self-control spent on not pulling the trigger.

"He shot me, he did," Hart snarls, turning away to grab a Weevil before it starts attacking them again. "Twice."

"Well, you fucking deserve-"

"Owen!" Gwen pleads, trying to push down his arm. "Owen, there's not time, please, just make sure he's okay, we'll deal with the Weevils."

She turns to Hart, contempt written all over her face. "You, with me, now. Get these Weevils and keep your bloody mouth shut!"

Hart complies unwillingly, aiming a kick at Jones on the way out, shoving two Weevils towards the basement, and Owen bends over Jones concernedly.

He does not see the man from the hologram come up from behind him until it's too late.

* * *

><p>Ianto groans, bringing his hands up to cradle his head. <em>Fuck<em>, that hurt. He forces himself to move, hand scrambling beside him to pull himself into a seated position. He blinks a couple times as the world comes back into focus only to find Gwen and Jack standing above him, unmoving.

"What happened?" he asks quickly, remembering the day's events and trying to smother the annoyance blossoming in his chest that they don't seem to be too worried about his health. "Harkness! Where the hell were yo..."

He trails off as he sees that both Gwen and Jack have tears running down their faces. No, he thinks, a sick feeling spreading through his chest, oh, no.

"There's been," Gwen starts, but she can't finish, letting out a sob and burying her head in her hands. Jack reaches out a filthy, dirt covered arm to wrap around her shoulder.

"Jones," he says, hoarsely, eyes reddened with irritation, looking like a man whose whole world has been pulled out from under him. "Owen and Tosh are dead."

Ianto opens his mouth, closes it, and cannot move.

They go to Gwen's flat, because there's really nowhere else to go. Rhys has been helping the police clean up so he isn't there when they arrive. Gwen flops over onto the sofa in front of the television and curls up, her head pressed to the cushions. Jack look over the domesticity of the room, the packet of biscuits on coffee table, Rhys' football bag under on the kitchen counter, and bolts to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. He kicks the door shut, and for a second, Ianto just stands there, listening to Gwen sob and Jack choke, and leans against the wall, sliding down slowly to the floor. He isn't sure how long he sits there, long enough for the sky outside to turn light, but when Rhys finally comes home he cannot say if he's been sitting there, motionless on the man's cream carpeted floor, for minutes or hours.

"Gwen!" Rhys shouts, pushing open the door hurriedly. "Gwen, I'm here! Where..."

He trails off as he sees Ianto against the wall.

"Over here," Gwen whispers in a very small voice from the sofa, and Rhys strides past Ianto to sit next to her.

"I can't," he hears Gwen sob. "It's too much, Owen, his blood all over the Hub and Tosh, she was all alone in the plant when-"

"Shh," Rhys says, and out of the corner of his eyes, Ianto sees him hold her tightly. "Alright, love, alright."

"He was talking to her," Gwen continues brokenly, "when it happened, over the comm, and then he just sort of stopped and it was like he wasn't there anymo-"

Ianto closes his eyes and tries to drown out her cries.

Eventually Gwen and Rhys retreat to the bedroom and Ianto is left alone in the sitting room. Jack has locked himself in the bathroom and refuses to come out, but Ianto doesn't blame him. For a while, things are very quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of cars outsides and the sound of one of Gwen's neighbors moving about every once and a while. Hours pass and Ianto just sits there, focusing on taking one careful breath at a time, because if he doesn't, he might think about how Tosh and Owen are dead, how there is likely nothing left of Tosh's body, while Owen's cools in the morgue. And then he might think of Lisa and then he really might break down.

Sunlight streams through the west facing windows by the time Jack exits the bathroom. He's utterly filthy, dirt on his face, ruining his white undershirt, and clinging to his trousers. He glances at Ianto briefly, but turns away, taking Gwen's empty place on the sofa without a sound.

The sun has set when Rhys comes out of the bedroom, looking exhausted and bereft. He looks over Jack on the sofa worriedly, though by the evenness of his breath, Ianto guesses he's been sleeping for a while now, and then turns to him.

"You're bleeding," Gwen's husband tells him softly.

Ianto does not trust himself to speak, so he gives a short nod, staring at the carpet.

He hears Rhys sigh and then he goes into the kitchen, rummages around with something and then comes out with a First Aid kit. He kneels before him, opening up a packet of antiseptic wipes. He rubs it over the Weevil claw mark on his face and then bandages it as best as he can.

"Best take your shirt off, mate," Rhys says tiredly and Ianto slowly complies, shrugging off his vest and tugging the under armour over his head.

Rhys inhales sharply when he sees the scars on his chest, barely visible in the day's last light, but doesn't comment. His vest protected his chest from the brunt of the Weevils' attacks, but his arms are crusted with blood and so Rhys goes into the kitchen and gets a washcloth to clean them off. He scrubs the antiseptic over them roughly, but Ianto welcomes the pain. The numbness was a relief, but it could only last so long and now Ianto has work to do.

"Thanks," he mutters once Rhys has finished bandaging him. It's a horrible job, the job of someone who has no clue what they are doing-_not like Owen, oh, God_- but Ianto appreciates it all the same.

"There we are," Rhys says bracingly, wincing at the strain on his knees. "Still should get those looked at by a professional."

"It's fine," Ianto shrugs dismissively and grabs for his clothes.

He slowly puts his shirt and vest on again and gets to his feet, Rhys watching him carefully.

"I have to go to work," he says quietly, not wanting to wake Jack.

"What?" Rhys blurts out. "No, no, no, no, you can't, you should..." he trails off pathetically.

"Half the city was just blown up," Ianto says rationally. "There will be calls, higher-ups might think we all died. UNIT might even try to take over our base of operations. There's paperwork and regulations for emergencies like-"

Ianto takes a deep, shuddering breath and steadies himself, taking the few steps across the sitting room and down the stairs to the landing. He pauses at the door, barely making out the worried look on Rhys' face in the dim light.

"I have things to do," he says roughly and then turns to glance at Jack's sleeping form.

He wants to say something like "Take care of him," or "Make sure he doesn't do something stupid," but he doesn't have that right, it's not like he's Jack's or Jack is his. So he just nods, hoping it will appease the other man and exits the flat.

He takes the bus back and reaches the Hub at about 8:30. He spends the next four hours answering angry, impatient calls, reassuring UNIT, MI5, the prime minister himself, and God, even the _Queen_, that Torchwood has dealt with the alien threat that caused the destruction of key points in Cardiff. They have suffered severe losses, 40% of their staff, but they will regroup and go on, and no, Captain Jack Harkness is not available at the moment, but if they have any messages, Field Agent Ianto Jones will pass them on.

Ianto likes to think that Jack would be proud that he's single-handedly curbed the many pronged effort to shut down Torchwood completely, but he knows that the man would just be furious that he is able to fill out paperwork when less than twenty-four hours ago, Owen and Tosh breathed their last.

The next part is harder. He boxes all of Tosh and Owen's personal belongings according to Torchwood protocol, hands shaking as he folds Owen's doctor's coat with it's stupid buttons and picks up Tosh's glasses, left on her desk. He scrubs Owen's blood off the floor, a slightly harder task than he expected as it's halfway dry. But it's only when he takes Dr. Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato off active duty, and Tosh's goodbye message pops up, slightly dated, that his eyes start to water. He rubs them carefully, realizing that there is no way he'll be able to clear out their respective flats tonight. It is simply not possible.

Ianto goes down to the morgue and pulls open Owen's drawer. Jack and Gwen had put him in cold storage before Ianto regained consciousness, and Tosh's body would be completely disintegrated. He has not seen what havoc Jack's younger brother has brought down upon them.

At his father's funeral, and at other open casket funerals, Ianto remembers the phrase "he looks like he could be sleeping," being uttered.

Owen is white and pale and cold and _dead_. He does not looking like he's sleeping. He looks dead.

"Sorry, Owen," Ianto whispers, closing the drawer.

The guilt nearly chokes him as he belatedly realizes that Owen would not be here if it weren't for him. If he had been better, stronger, more aware, he would not have been struck unconscious by Hart and Owen would still be...If he had stayed at the plant with Tosh, instead of just taking her word that she could deal with it by herself...If only he had not gone after Lisa on that horrible day, maybe she would still be...

But he's not stupid. It's not his fault that Gray shot Owen. He knows that if he'd stayed at the plant he'd most likely be dead too. And Torchwood One would not have tried to save Lisa, they'd never even considered the possibility that she was not acting on her own volition. They would've killed her themselves. Ianto has no control over these things, just like everything else in his life. He just has to live with them.

Ianto goes down one more floor to the archives, locks himself in, and lets himself break down.

Then he cleans himself up and goes home.

* * *

><p>Gwen is lying on their bed, staring at the ceiling, and Rhys Williams runs his hands through his hair in exhaust and stress. He and Gwen had been lucky in life, before Torchwood anyway. Neither of them had dealt with loss of close friends before, only distant relatives and grandparents. And as a result, Gwen is not copping well and Rhys has no idea how to help her.<p>

Jack woke up a few hours ago and after a few helpful hints, decided to take a shower. Rhys has no idea how he came to be covered in dirt, has no idea what actually happened in the first place. It says terrorist bombings on the news, but even he knows that's complete bollocks. No one will tell him anything, as usual, but Rhys' more worried about Gwen anyway. Harkness is still in the shower even though the hot water has to be all gone now and Jones looked like someone had ripped his heart out before he left nearly twelve hours ago.

And Rhys, well, it wasn't like he'd known Toshiko Sato or Owen Harper very well. He'd only met them when he found out about Torchwood for the first time and then at the wedding. Sato had seemed nice, but rather full of herself in his opinion, and Harper had seemed like a real prick. But they were Gwen's friends, people she sometimes spent more of her time with than him, and they were _so_ young. It makes him afraid, terrified because he knows Gwen could have easily have been in their place. He wants her to stop, wants her leave Torchwood and never look back, but he knows she never will, knows it with the same certainty that he knows he would never want to go back to a time before the space whale and all the other mad things he's seen since then. That's the problem with mankind, he thinks. It isn't only the cat that's killed by its curiosity.

He tries not to think about it, tries to believe the story on the telly, tries not to think of Gwen, one day, just not coming home. He can't sleep, just keeps tossing and turning as Gwen alternates between crying and being utterly dead to the world. He spends the entire night watching awful late night television just to drown out the worries.

Around three pm he gets back from checking to make sure everything's fine at work, just in time for Jack bloody Harkness to exit the bathroom, completely starkers. Rhys scowls, because, is that really necessary and, he's rather well, er...

"Hello," Rhys says pointedly, and Harkness blinks at him, as if he isn't standing six feet in front of him.

"Oh," Harkness says, not even making an effort to cover himself with the towel that's slung over his shoulder. "Thanks for letting me use your shower."

_"When I offered, I didn't think you'd stay in there for eight hours," _Rhys thinks, but attempts a reassuring smile.

Rhys lends him some clothes because his are fit only to be burned, and it's a sign of how much grief and pain Harkness is in that he doesn't even make any nasty comments about the clothes, as they're clearly not his own camp style. It's only as Harkness is getting dressed does Rhys realize the oddity of the situation.

Two of his wife's colleagues from her secret alien-catching job are dead and her boss, a man who, according to Gwen, can never die, who he saw come back to life after being crushed under a stone pillar, and whom Gwen thinks is a time-traveler from the 51st century, has spent the last thirty-six hours crashing at his place. Also, he has no sense of modesty, and he's going commando in Rhys' clothes.

"Where's Jones?" Harkness asks suddenly, just as Rhys starts to wonder when his life went from ordinary to _utterly insane_.

"Who?" Rhys asks without thinking. "Oh, he left last night."

Harkness turns to stare at him. "What?" he asks crossly.

"Said he had work to do," Rhys explains, surprised at Harkness' reaction.

"And you didn't stop him?" Harkness growls, grabbing his grubby coat and throwing it on.

"Why would I stop him?" Rhys asks, starting to get irritated.

Harkness rolls his eyes. "Nevermind," he says viciously, heading for the door. "Take care of her."

Rhys bites back a furious reply, _as if he needs _him_ to tell him to take care of his own wife_, and goes to make a cup of tea. At least he's left them alone now.

He wonders what Harkness will do now, with only three members left. He'll probably have to recruit new team members, hopefully someone more normal and safe. It occurs to him that the only two people besides Gwen left are the ones he feels the most uncomfortable with. Harkness, for the obvious reason that Rhys is pretty sure he has a thing for Gwen. And, well, he's a rather good-looking bloke if he's honest with himself, and if he's _really_ honest with himself, he'll admit that he's pretty sure Gwen has a thing for him too.

Harkness makes him feel all...stupid and insecure sometimes, and jealous, so, so jealous. And that's not the type of man he wants to be. He wants to be supportive of Gwen's interests, wants her to be happy, no matter how mad her job is and Harkness just seems to get in the way of all that. But he knows that Harkness will protect Gwen when he can and never harm her, something he can't say the same for Jones.

He first noticed the man as the only team member of Gwen's to actually act like a professional during the whole space whale fiasco. Also, Welsh, which was a plus. He shot the two blokes in charge of the operation, but Rhys didn't think much of it at the time. It was only later, when Gwen was explaining all about her job over dinner and all the insane things she'd done, that she told him about Jones, about his record at Torchwood One, and about him murdering his girlfriend.

"Jack controls him," she had said seriously, hand clasped in his. "But, Rhys, be careful around him. I mean, if you see him in the street. Just...just stay away from him, yeah?"

He had not been pleased to learn that his fiancée was working with a killer, but Gwen assured him it was just the Torchwood equivalent of working with a mental bloke like Dylan who had been sectioned for two years and everyone at Harwood's had always been careful around.

Except then, a few months later, he'd come home to find Gwen curled up on the sofa, looking serious and distressed

"When I was in school," she said slowly when he sat down beside her, "there was this girl, Meghan Evans. Everyone always had a go at her because she was, well, the school slag."

She gave a sad laugh. "All the girls hated her cos the lads were always all over her, with her reputation. The things they used to say-the things _I_ used to say about her. She disappeared one day, and we all joked she'd finally gotten the clap or pregnant. And then it turned out that she'd been taken away by Child Services, because apparently she'd been molested by her dad since she was a kid."

"Christ," he whispered.

"I'll never forget the _shame_ I felt when I found that out," Gwen continued, "and I thought I learned my lesson, but..."

She looked up at him then, eyes shining, and told him that Jones hadn't killed his girlfriend after all, but for some reason it was written down in his file anyway, and Jones was apparently fucked up enough to just _let_ them all think that he had. She and the others felt horrible for reasons Rhys didn't really understand. How were_ they _supposed to know, if he didn't tell 'em? For a while he was a bit angry at _Jones_ for making Gwen feel awful about herself.

But just because he didn't execute his girlfriend like the files said he did doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. Rhys has to admit that he felt bad for the man last night, all scratched up and in shock, but it doesn't mean he's forgotten what kind of person he really is. The whole thing's too personal for Gwen, she has always taken things too personally, and that's one of the reasons why he loves her, but there's a dark side to it too. She's blinded by her own guilt over her perceived wrongdoing and now she's trying to romanticize Jones.

And by the way Jack went rushing out after Jones, Rhys is beginning to suspect that he's having the same problem.

**A/N: Wow, a lot of stuff happened this chapter. Mostly depressing stuff. Have I mentioned that this is possibly the most angsty thing I have written, like, ever?**

**Anyway, many thanks to Sleeping Soundly and Resonance and d for looking this over and not murdering me over my poor grammar and comma usage. You're the best guys! Please review!  
><strong>


	4. Part IV

Part IV-

Jones is not at the Hub, but he has wiped the entire place down, packed away Owen and Tosh's things, and Jack Harkness is torn between being furious and endlessly grateful. He changes because he's not going to spend another second in _Rhys Williams' _clothes if he has to, but then he's off to Jones' flat, partly because he doesn't think he could stand to stay at the Hub alone tonight.

When he knocks on the door angrily, he expects Jones to answer, looking as cold and professional as ever, not the man's elder sister with a bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand.

"Ianto!" she calls over her should after eyeing his dirt-crusted coat with raised eyebrows. "Your boss is 'ere!"

Jones lets out a muffled groan from the other room.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, obviously having had a few drinks in her before she answered the door. "He's in a state, maybe come back tomorrow?"

"I thought he didn't drink," Jack says, surprised and remembering all the times that Jones had declined to go out with them after work or have drinks in more intimate settings.

"We only drink with each other," the woman explains casually in the sort of tone that implies she is only telling Jack this because she is not entirely sober. What's her name again, something with an 'r?' "Alcoholism is in the family, so we made a pact."

"Huh," Jack says, all of the sudden realizing that Jones' sister could probably shed a lot of light on the mystery that was Field Agent Jones. "He okay?"

"You can come in if you want," she says easily, pulling the door open further, and Jack inwardly cheers.

This is only the third time Jack has been to Jones' flat, the other two times not on particularly cheery occasions either. In the two months they've been...messing around for lack of a better phrase, Jones had never invited him back here, preferring to stay at the Hub, and Jack had never asked, even though his bed was not really fit for two people. Usually, he went to his partner's house when on the pull, but he'd never pretended that this thing he has with Jones was anything but unusual.

The sister leads him into the barren kitchen where Jones is slumped over the kitchen table, idly playing with the shot glass in-between his fingers.

"Jack," he mutters, and Jack's heart jumps into his throat. He _loves _it when Jones slips up and calls him by his first name. "What're you doing 'ere?"

"You took off without telling me," Jack scowls, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to seem so pleased.

"Rhys was getting to look quite strung out," he mumbles.

He's red-faced and exhausted and _completely_ pissed. Jack had been planning to yell at him for being such an unfeeling bastard, but now he's left feeling rather ashamed that he has yet again underestimated Jones' capacity for normal human emotion.

He pulls out the chair across from Jones, leaning his forearms on the table to get a better look at Jones' bandaged face. "You alright, Jones?"

Jones giggles against the surface of the table, a creepy, broken sound.

"Alright, that's it for you," the sister says, grabbing the bottle off the table and eyeing Jones carefully. "You're gassed up enough as it is. I'll make us some tea, yeah?"

"Don't want tea," Jones groans against the cheap wood, sounding very young. "I want Owen and Tosh."

Jack inhales sharply and tries very hard not to cry. "Yeah," he says hoarsely. "I know."

The sister glances between them carefully, but doesn't say anything, instead busies herself with the kettle.

They sit in silence and have tea, and then Jones goes to take a shower to sober up, leaving Jack alone with the sister, Rhiannon, he's remembered.

"What's happened to you then?" she asks, gesturing to his coat.

"Got buried alive for two thousand years," Jack replies idly. "Tends to take a toll on the threads."

She does not laugh it off or give him an annoyed look like he imagined she would. Instead, she goes very white and stares at him in horror, and oh, fuck, she actually _believes_ him. But that means Jones must've...but he would _never_...would he?

He stands abruptly to play with a generic magnet on Jones' fridge, aware of her eyes on him. He takes another sip of his lukewarm tea, listening to the sound of Jones' shower and the six o'clock news on the neighbor's television in the background.

"Did you know Lisa Hallett?" he asks her suddenly, curiosity a welcome distraction to the overwhelming grief he feels.

There is a pause, and he turns around, leaning against the empty kitchen counter, to see her eyeing him warily. He remembers the hostility she greeted them with at the hospital, her guarded behavior around them, how she never even asked who they were and thinks that things would make a lot of sense if she knew about Torchwood.

"A little," she replies finally, looking sadly out the window at the building next door. "I met her when Ianto brought her home for Christmas. Just the once, though."

She knows the truth about Lisa, he can tell. The melancholy look on her face is as clear to Jack as if she'd admitted it aloud and suddenly Jack _knows_, without a doubt, why she was so rude to them when they first met.

"She seemed nice," Rhiannon continues, unconsciously playing with her wedding ring. "English. Ianto was so...I hadn't seen him..."

She trails off, and Jack watches her face carefully. Rhiannon sighs softly and turns to look at him. "And then she blew her brains out and I _hated_ her."

"W-What?"

"Hated her so much," she goes on, ignoring Jack's confusion. "I don't know whether he didn't explain it properly the first time, or whether I was so shocked I didn't hear the whole story, or maybe it was a bit of both. He was never the same after that and all I could think about was how it was all _her_ fault."

Her voice shakes at the end of the sentence and looks away again. She grips her mug of tea tightly, probably to stop her hands from trembling and lets out a quick breath.

"It was only about a year after that, when he spent a couple months in the hospital after his kidney failed that I found out that if she hadn't...well, he'd be dead. Didn't hate her so much after that."

The shower turns off in the background, and it seems to break Jones' sister out of her reverie.

"Sorry," she says, rubbing the back of her neck with a self-deprecating smile. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not like you care."

"And why would you think I wouldn't care?" Jack asks harshly.

He's so fucking sick of people trying to tell him what to care about. Gwen thinks he should care about everything, Jones, and by extension Rhiannon, doesn't think he cares at all, and God, even Owen and Tosh were somewhere in between. It's been going on for years now, decades of working for Torchwood and being told to prioritize things that no one should ever have to choose between. But he can't let Jones' older sister be the straw that breaks the zarbi's back, so he holds back his anger, digging his fingernails into the cloth of his trousers.

Rhiannon gives him that same confused look that Jones had given him when he'd asked him if he was alright the day he came back to work after the Gwanzulum, but before he can try to explain, the bathroom door opens, and he hears Jones pad down the hallway.

"It's getting late, innit?" Jones says, entering the kitchen and toweling down his hair. He's changed into sweats and a white undershirt, making him look at least five years younger than he normally does. In different circumstances, Jack would certainly want to explore this new look, but at the moment he's more interested in the two siblings' interaction.

"Johnny can manage," Rhiannon says, but Jones gives her a skeptical look and picks up his cell phone on the counter next to Jack, briefly glancing up at him.

"You've got work tomorrow," he says, starting to dial. "I'm calling you a cab."

"Ianto, it's fine, really, though, it's only handing out flyers," she protests, but Jones cannot be persuaded.

"What about you?" Jones asks after he hangs up the phone, turning to Jack. "You can stay here tonight, if you like."

The way he says it, so easygoing, like it's normal for them, hanging the towel over his shoulder as he speaks, is a little infuriating. But Jack's much too grateful to do anything but nod.

Rhiannon's eyes dart between them speculatively, suspicion forming in her eyes. But she doesn't say anything, and in this she is _so_ like Jones. Jack wonders what their childhood was like.

"Oh, cab fare," Jones mutters, going to get his wallet, and Rhiannon looks distressed.

"Ianto, don't," she blanches, getting out of her chair and hovering uncertainly next to the table. "You already give..." she trails off, but Jack gets the message.

It makes sense though, because the pay's good at Torchwood, and Jones probably lives on less than 10% of his salary. For a while now Jack has tried to keep the amount of personal items he owns down to a minimum, less to lose in the long run, but he thinks Jones may have even less stuff than he does.

"Stop by sometime, alright?" Jack hears her say softly at the door, but Jones just gives a noncommittal grunt that Jack knows means no.

He comes back into the kitchen after she leaves and sits down at the kitchen table again, picking up the shot glass and inspecting it as if Jack's not even in the room.

"You won't go to see her, will you?" he asks calmly.

"No."

"Why not?" Jack asks, frowning at him.

"She has kids," he says simply, as if that explains everything.

"Your niece and nephew," Jack offers, remembering the intel Tosh -_stoppit, don't think about that_- pulled up on Rhiannon Davies.

Jones turns to look at him, mouth pulled down in a frown, but then shrugs carelessly, as if Jack's words are meaningless.

"I'm not the type of person that should be around children," he says easily, as if it's no big deal.

Jack pauses a moment to take that in.

"The first time I was here," Jack asks slowly, careful not to spook him. "I asked you if there was anyone in the world you wouldn't sacri-"

"I remember," Jones replies harshly, not looking pleased at topic.

"Was that a lie?" Jack finishes.

"Yeah," Jones replies after a brief pause. He drums his fingers against the surface of the table, defensive and impatient. "Everyone has someone they won't sacrifice," he adds with a pointed look.

Jack goes stiff at the oblique reference to Gray, locked inside a cryogenics drawer, kept safe with a code that only Jack knows, because he neither trusts Jones nor Gwen to not take revenge on Owen and Tosh's killer.

"Why?" Jack has to know, trying to move past the awful cold feeling in his chest at the reminder of what his younger brother-_baby brother, oh, Gray, why_- had become. "Why did you lie?"

Jones laughs, a cold, harsh sound, nothing like the man on the Valiant. "The same reason you didn't tell us you were immortal. Because it's simpler. It was easier for me to be the coldblooded killer you all expected, you all wanted. It was easier for you too."

"I didn't _want-" _Jack protests.

"Yes, you did," Jones cuts him off brutally. "You hated me even before you read my file because I was from Torchwood One. It was simpler for you, easier for you to do your job if everything was black and white, no gray areas. And with this job, it's easier for me to be less human."

"It's easier for a while," Jack says softly, because he _knows_, he's been there. "But you can't keep it up forev-"

"I don't have forever," Jones interrupts, shrugging his shoulders. "We both know I won't have time to regret it."

Jack doesn't have anything to say to that, his gut going cold, because as much as he hates it, he _knows_ that Jones speaks the truth.

"Did you feel it?" Jones asks suddenly.

Jack blinks. "Feel what?"

"You know," Jones says, looking at him as if he's slightly demented. "Two thousand years."

Jack feels all the color drain out of his face.

"Because I can't imagine you even remembering who we are if you felt it," Jones continues, watching him carefully.

Jones is right, of course, Jack thinks distractedly. If Gray's assumption had been correct and he'd choked on dirt for two thousand years, there's no way he would have been able to function properly after finally coming out of it. He wouldn't have even remembered who Tosh and Owen were, much less grieve over them, and maybe not even Torchwood.

"It was mostly like sleeping," Jack tells him without knowing why. "Except dying every so often. The time between each death got longer and longer. I didn't revive as much, maybe because my body somehow knew it was pointless."

That still didn't mean it wasn't probably the singular most horrific experience in Jack's very long life, or even that he wasn't going to have nightmares about being buried alive for years to come, but there was no way in hell he's telling Jones that.

Jones eyes him, considering something and then shrugs.

"I'm going to bed," he announces, standing and pushing in the chair carefully. "Coming?"

Jack looks at him, looks at his young face, long legs, and strong arms. He knows his body so well now, knows nearly every scar that mars his pale skin, knows that he likes it hard and rough, and that he hates gentleness and is too embarrassed to let Jack go down on him. But he realizes, not for the first time, that he knows nothing about _him_. He knows about his great coffee, his efficiency, his strength, his criminal record and medical problems, even about his sister and Lisa Hallett, but he knows next to nothing about the man behind them all.

"Right," Jack says, instead of what he wants to say, wants to ask.

Jones' bed is only slightly bigger than his own, but a lot more comfortable. Jack peels off his coat, collared shirt, undershirt, and trousers, but Jones doesn't even take his shirt off, just slides into the far side of the bed, his back to Jack, facing his bedside table with the face-down picture frame and one of his guns.

Jack wants something more here, wants Jones to say something, wants this to be more than just Jones taking pity on him, but he knows the other man isn't interested. So he lies down next to him and stares at the ceiling.

After about half an hour, Jones' breathing evens out, and Jack turns to him and very, very carefully, presses his forehead against the nape of Jones' neck and places an arm lightly around his waist.

Almost immediately, Jones jerks awake, gasping for breath and going for his firearm. Jack inwardly curses and lets out a sleepy groan, feigning sleep because it's the only thing he can do.

Jones goes very still and shifts under his touch, turning to face him, and even though Jack's eyes are closed he can feel the other man's gaze on him.

Jones grabs the arm slung over him, but instead of pushing it off like he's done so many times before, like Jack expects him to, he just grips it tightly. He shifts it slightly, moving Jack's arm further up his torso and then shakes, letting out a series of harsh breaths.

At first, Jack thinks he's wanking off, but then, to his horror, he realizes that he's _crying. _

It doesn't sound much like crying, more like he's got something stuck in his throat, but Jack remembers the Gwanzulum, and his hyperventilating breaths then and thinks that maybe this is just Jones' special fucked up way of expressing grief. Or maybe he's run out of tears. But Jack doesn't really believe in that, he's certainly spent enough time thinking that was true and then been proved wrong the next time someone he loved died, so it's probably the former.

If Jack didn't know Jones as well as he did (which wasn't saying much,) he might've broken the facade and tried to comfort him. But he knows if he does that Jones will just shy away or shut down. So he continues the charade, pretends to be asleep and lets Jones tremble on the bed next to him, alone and unconsoled.

The next morning, Jack wakes to find himself alone in Jones' bed. He sits up, fighting against the huge cloud of _grief_ that weighs against his chest, trying to force him back down. Pressing his hand to the indentation in the bed where Jones lay, he sighs, looking around the room, his gaze finally falling on the picture frame on the bedside table. Glancing over his shoulder to check that Jones' isn't about to walk in the room any second, he slowly leans over and picks it up.

He is unsurprised to find that it's a photograph of Jones with Lisa Hallet. They're sitting on the steps of a building, Jones with his arm around Lisa's waist, grinning shyly. Lisa is laughing, her mouth curved in a much gentler, kinder smile than the Gwanzulum's cruel smirk. Jones is so, _so_ young that it's almost shocking. He'd have to be twenty in this picture, or maybe even _nineteen._ Lisa Hallett must have been one hell of a woman, Jack thinks, a sensation akin to jealously bubbling in his chest, for Jones to have been so affected by her death, even five years later.

He places the picture frame back in its original face-down position and gets out of bed, grabbing his undershirt and trousers off the floor and pulling them on. He exits the room and goes into the kitchen, but Jones isn't there. Jack sticks his head back down the hallway to see that the bathroom door's open and the lights off and then walks slowly to the only remaining door that isn't a closet. It's another bedroom, but there's no bed. Instead there's a hanging punch-bag attached to the ceiling in the center of the room, a lot of weights on a shelve in a corner, and a jump rope hanging over the speed bag in the other corner. Jones is on the floor, covered in sweat and stretching out, his hands wrapped almost all the way around the bottom of his feet, despite his unusually long legs.

"Oh," Jones says as he enters the room, sitting up. "You're awake."

"Yep," Jack replies leaning against the door-frame.

Jones gets to his feet and wipes his forehead with his bare forearm, sweat staining his white undershirt.

"You're certainly dedicated," Jack breaks the silence, for lack of anything better to say, gesturing to the room.

"It's not like Torchwood has a gym," Jones tells him, pulling off his shirt and wiping his face with it like a towel. "And _some_ of us have to keep in shape."

His upper arms are covered in bandages, from the Weevils he guesses, and his knuckles are bruised and reddened with irritation. They almost offset the appearance of all his scars.

"No gloves?" he asks, gesturing to his hands and to the punch-bag.

"I'm not a boxer," Jones answers contemptuously. "I don't use gloves out in the field, so I don't see why I should use them now."

He folds up the shirt and passes Jack on his way out of the room. "If you want breakfast, I'm pretty sure I have eggs," he says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Jack watches his back as he goes, the scars from bullet and knives and possibly even acid that have tarnished his smooth skin more apparent than ever.

"Alright," he replies fluidly. "Eggs it is then."

* * *

><p>It's the mugs that do Gwen Cooper in, in the end. Not the emptiness of the Hub, not hearing about the nuclear meltdown on the morning news, not even Tosh's goodbye video. No. It's the mugs.<p>

It's been two weeks since Tosh and Owen died and despite the mess that Cardiff's in, it's a slow day. Gwen is sitting at her workstation, watching Jones make coffee and wondering what excuse will get her out of staying behind to monitor the Rift tonight. She sees Jones pick up the mug, the green one with an outline of a butterfly in white on it and she feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. That is Tosh's mug. That _was_ Tosh's mug.

Jones seems to have realized it too, because he goes very, very still and pales considerably. She stands and makes her way towards him, hands starting to shake. She stops right in front of him and reaches out to grip his hand, her fingers brushing lightly against the cool porcelain. Jones looks up at her, face carefully blank.

"Accident," he mutters. "I wasn't aiming for-I forgot to-"

"I know," she whispers.

A pause.

"I keep expecting," he says slowly. "I keep expecting them to walk in, like nothing happened."

He goes very stiff, the way people do when they're trying to stop themselves from shivering and Gwen tightens her grip on his hand.

"I know," she repeats, and glances at Owen's navy blue mug, still on the shelve.

Jones takes in a shaky breath and Gwen brings up her other hand to clasp the mug and leans in to press her head against his shoulder, tears already running down her cheeks.

He doesn't say anything comforting or make any effort to console her, but the fact that he doesn't immediately shrug her off says a lot. She swore she wouldn't break down once she started work again, swore that she would be strong for Jack, for Owen and Tosh, and even Jones, but the last physical reminder of Tosh and Owen's presences are too much to be ignored. Gwen breathes deeply against Jones' shoulder, trying to get a hold of herself.

"I am so, _so_ sick of feeling like this," she says hoarsely, inhaling the subtle scent of Jones' aftershave. "I just want it to be over with. I don't want to grieve anymore."

"I know," Jones says quietly and he does, he _so_ does.

He understands grief more than Gwen herself, though not more than Jack. She doesn't think anyone understands grief more than Jack. But Jack moves on, he looks to the future, he truly believes that _the end is where we start from_, though maybe he doesn't have a choice. And Jones keeps on going, keeps on fighting, despite the fact that sometimes Gwen is so sure that he's dead on the inside. Standing in the middle of the Hub, her tear-stained face pressed to Jones' shoulder, Gwen marvels at the strength and resilience of them both and wonders if she will ever become as hardened as they have. She hopes not, but that might not be a choice either.

Somehow, things come easier after that. The grief is still there, Gwen doesn't ever really expect it to ever leave, but it doesn't weigh as constantly on her mind. Sometimes she goes hours at a time without thinking about Owen or Tosh, and when she does, their deaths are not the first thing she thinks of. Keeping busy helps a lot and with only three people left, they are stretched pretty thin on the ground. But even after they all nearly get murdered by Chelonians, no one suggests new recruits, not even Jones. It is so dangerous with only the three of them, and as time goes on, death or severe injury seems inevitable. The possibility of new members is always there, hanging in the air when they're cornered by hostile aliens, when they need something beyond Jones' technical abilities or Jack's medical knowledge, or even when they have to stay late to finish up paperwork, but no one even mentions the possibility of Tosh and Owen's replacements. Instead it waits, like the elephant in the room, for its time.

Summer comes and Rhys starts talking about looking at houses, which is a bit of a shock, but Gwen goes along with it. Things are unnaturally calm for a while and then Martha Jones calls from Switzerland to help with a mysterious missing persons case at CERN and then Torchwood goes international.

Gwen is actually sort of excited to be leaving Cardiff. She's barely had a day off since her honeymoon, and she's never been to Switzerland before. Of course, once they get there it's nearly not as fun because there's crazy ghosts, Martha keeps asking her how she's doing about Owen and Tosh, and Jones has the misfortune to run into the evil shape-shifting alien behind the entire mess. _Again_.

Jones can't move, can't function properly, and even though Gwen wants so much to believe the alien, that doing its bidding will bring Owen and Tosh back, she's not a fool. Jones knows it too, of course, he knew that Bilis' apparitions were false a year and a half ago when the rest of them believed the lie, but seeing them, hearing them is just too much for him to handle. Gwen thinks that his seeing so much more death than she has helps when working for Torchwood, but it also makes him more susceptible to occurrences like these. She ends up pulling Jones away, practically has to drag him down the tunnel until Dr. Harrington helps them escape.

Jones is quiet and sickly gray throughout the whole aftermath and even when they finally leave the facility and go to a hotel, he's near unresponsive.

Jack keeps giving him worried glances, even though Jones just insists all he wants to do is sleep and he only requests two rooms at the hotel.

Gwen doesn't comment, but it's pretty obvious by now that Owen was right, and that Jack and Jones are shagging. She's not really sure what to make of that. It's sort of uncomfortable, _yes, _there's a bit of jealousy, but it's more because they don't even have a healthy work relationship and she knows better than anyone how destructive Torchwood affairs can be. But it's none of her business, so she keeps her mouth shut.

She gets home two days later, utterly exhausted and worn out, and thinks that excitement is overrated.

Unfortunately, the boring days of sitting at the Hub eating takeout, playing basketball, or trying not to laugh at Jones' subtle ways of making fun of Jack that the latter doesn't notice are long over. While they were away, seven people have all mysteriously gone missing. They manage to figure out that all of the people that have disappeared were either workers inside Cardiff's drainage well system or whose CCTV trails ends near large enough side inlets. Which then leads to her and Jones being trapped inside a flooding underground sewer by zombie octopus people, with sea water at their waists and rising.

"It's. No. Good!" Jones grunts, pounding at the manhole cover above him. "They've sealed it somehow."

"Oh, god," Gwen gasp, starting to feel claustrophobic as she realizes there's only about two feet above her head. "Jack! C'mon, pick up!"

But there's nothing. Jack hasn't been answering his comm in fifteen minutes since he was halfway through making a joke about the merits of having it on in a sewer and let out a yell of pain, and then...nothing.

"We're stuck," Jones says softly, barely audible over the running water.

"No!" Gwen shouts, pushing him aside to pound at the cover. "There must be some way out of here! C'mon, open up!"

"Gwen," Jones whispers, using her given name for the first time. "Gwen, don't-"

"This isn't-" she sobs. "This can't be-I don't want to-"

Jones grabs her shoulders, gripping her tightly and she gasps for air, air that will soon be gone.

"Alright," she gasps, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself, elbows dragging through the water. "Okay."

This is it. This is the end. She's going to die her, in a sewer with Jones, and there's nothing she can do. It. Is. Over.

"God," she gasps, the smell of the sea water almost overpowering. "Drowning's supposed to be one of the most painful ways to go, yeah?"

"Don't," Jones say, voice gravelly.

"Rhys will, oh, Rhys will never forgive me," she says hysterically. "And Jack. Right after Owen and Tosh...this will kill him..."

The water reaches her stomach.

Jones is taking short, quick breaths. He's taller than her, Gwen realizes. She's going to die first and then Jones will...

"This is not exactly how I'd thought I'd die," Gwen laughs madly. "More like a bullet to the forehead, alien pincer or somemat through the chest. Not like this."

"Not old in bed surrounded by grandchildren?" Jones asks, the light from their dropped torches on the cement floor illuminating his pale face.

"No," Gwen whispers, reaching up to grip his vest and press her forehead against his. "I think I've grown out of that."

He lets out a harsh breath against her cheek, shaking under her touch.

"I don't want to do slow," Gwen pants. "Not after Hart, with that goddamn paralyzing lip gloss. I had nightmares about that for weeks, just lying there in that empty storage crate...oh, God, I don't want to do slow."

"I know. Three months into being a Field Agent at One," Jones gasps as the water starts to soak into his vest. "I almost bled out in an alley in Gloucester. Middle of winter, four in the morning, and all I could think about was how I couldn't believe I was dying in bloody _Gloucester_."

Gwen lets out a shrill laugh as the water reaches her chest.

"Still," Jones continues, closing his eyes, forehead damp against hers, "was alone then."

"Yeah," Gwen admits, even as terror threatens to consume her. "Oh, God, Jones, I am _so_ sorry. I am so, so sorry about the way I acted, the way I trea-"

"It's okay," he interrupts, calm in a way that Gwen envies so much. "It's not your...it was just easier not to talk about it. Maybe I should've...shit, I-"

"You don't have to," she whispers. "I understand."

He laughs softly. "If I could do it over again...but that's rubbish, innit?"

"I'm scared, so scared," Gwen lets out a dry sob as the water hits her collarbones.

They're floating now, swimming desperately in place, and Gwen guesses she isn't going to drown first, though perhaps because Jones' lungs are bigger-

"I know," he mutters against her cheek.

He takes in a harsh breath and tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sad little laugh. "Fuck it," he says unexpectedly. "I'm in love with Jack."

Gwen's mouth falls open, despite the direness of the situation.

"Wot?" she gapes.

"I tried _so_ hard not to be," he whispers, shivering with the cold. "But of course Jack bloody Harkness has to screw everything up. Wanker."

"Don't I know it," Gwen giggles hysterically as the top of her head touches the ceiling.

"Right," Jones says shrilly, the water lapping against his chin. "This is it then."

"Yup," Gwen whimpers. "Oh, God, oh, God, I don't even know your first name."

"Ianto," Jones supplies and she can't even see his face anymore, the sheer amount of water dimming the torches' beams.

"Pleased to meet you, Ianto Jones," Gwen gasps, spitting out a mouthful of water.

Almost simultaneously, they each take a deep breath and Gwen closes her eyes and prays for a quick death.

Suddenly, just as the water is covering her lips, even as she scrambles for air, there's a clanging sound from over in the corner and the manhole cover is pulled open. Glaring light floods the sewer and she sees Jones' eyes widen in shock.

"Gwen! Jones!" Jack yells from above. "Are you down there?"

Jones grabs her and shoves her towards the exit. Jack pulls her up, and she falls over onto her side on the floor of the water treatment plant, gasping for breath.

Seconds later, she sees Jack help Jones out, face and hair completely wet and breathing just as heavily as she is.

"Hahah!" Jack shouts triumphantly. "Haemovores! Thought they could suck my blood, well, they didn't count on a good old-fashioned staking, filthy vampir..."

He trails off as neither she nor Jones respond, just lay on the floor and tremble.

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking between them concernedly.

Water wells up from the manhole onto the cement floor of the plant and Jack goes very pale, realizing how close they just came to...just came to...

"Rhys," Gwen whimpers, unable to do anything but curl into a sodden ball. "Jack, please. I want Rhys."

* * *

><p>Ianto Jones can't think. He gasps for breath, fingers scrapping against the cement floor, and shivers pathetically. There are other people entering the room now, he realizes, city workers and police, even firefighters and he pulls himself up, leaning against a whirring metal machine. Ianto stares hazily up at the ceiling of the treatment plant and tries not to hyperventilate any more than he already is.<p>

"Oi, get some blankets in here!" he hears Jack shout, moving between him and Gwen worriedly.

"Jones!" Jack says, hands cupping his face and tilting his head down to force Ianto to look at him. "Jones, hey, are you alright?"

Jack's face is startlingly close and Ianto closes his eyes because he doesn't want Jack to see the terror that must be reflected in them.

"M'fine," he manages to mumble out, mouth feeling cold and _dead_.

Other people's conversations buzz around him and then there's a blanket being wrapped around him, Jack's hands still on his cheek.

The hand draws away after a couple seconds and then he think he hears the sound of Rhys Williams shouting, but it's too much, too _much. _Too many voices, too much sound and Ianto curls into himself as wishes for his flat, safe and _empty_.

He doesn't know how much time passes, but then someone is gripping his arms and helping him to his feet.

"Shh, shh, okay, Jones, okay," Jack says soothingly and Ianto lets out a little giggle, because that tone of voice sounds ridiculous on him.

He's in the SUV then, without remembering how and Jack keeps touching his face and his hair, whispering meaningless comforts. They stop and then Jack's dragging him out of the car and up some stairs with difficulty. He's scrabbling with something and Ianto leans against a familiar white wall, the plaster cool against his forehead, the complete opposite of Gwen's sweaty touch and -_Oh, God, don't think about that, you're alive, she's alive, and everything is alright, everything is alright. _

"C'mere," Jack says, pulling him through a door and Ianto suddenly realizes that they're in his flat and that Jack is pulling away the blanket, unzipping his vest and pushing up his shirt.

"Don't-" he gasps, fearful and wary, wanting Jack's hands off him, away from him. He thinks there's nothing in the world he wants less in this moment than sex.

"You're going to get hypothermia if we don't get you warm," Jack tells him, as if that makes it okay. He unbuttons his trousers next, and Ianto trembles in terror, unable to jerk away. "Shower's this way."

"Oh," Ianto murmurs, relief spreading through him. Shower. Shower's alright. Shower's good. He can do that.

Jack backs him into the bath and turns the shower head on, adjusting the temperature and shucking off his briefs. He nudges him gently inside the shower, and Ianto gives a harsh gasp as the hot water hits his shoulders, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Too hot?" Jack asks, pushing off his braces and pulling off his own shirt.

"S'fine," Ianto slurs and closes his eyes against the welcome heat. A few seconds later, he hears Jack enter the shower as well and grimaces.

"Harkness, don't," he mutters lowly. "I can-"

"You can't even figure out where the soap is," Jack says, sounding amused. "You're in shock Jones, just relax, okay?"

Ianto doesn't reply and then he feels Jack's hands in his hair, brushing it back with gentle fingers. He's too exhausted to protest, so he just lets Jack shampoo his hair and tries to forget he doesn't hate it when Jack acts like this.

"I don't understand you at all," Ianto murmurs as Jack kisses the juncture where his jaw meets his neck.

Afterward, Ianto sleeps, cocooned in the blankets kept Jack piling on him, and dreams of nothing.

He wakes up to sunlight pouring in through his east facing windows and realizes with a jolt that he must've slept through the whole afternoon and night. Shifting slightly, Ianto suddenly feels something _move_ next to him, there is something on his _chest_, and he scrambles backward into the headboard, reaching for his firearm in vain.

"Wha-" Jack groans, lifting his head from the mattress where it fell when he slid off Ianto's chest. "Christ, why're you so..."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ianto gasps, putting his hand on his chest to regulate his breathing and feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"You do remember yesterday, don't you?" Jack asks, rolling over on to his back and yawning.

Ianto closes his eyes and leans back against the headboard.

"Jones...?"

"That..." Ianto starts and then stops, taking a shuddering breath.

"You okay?" Jack asks, sitting up and putting his hand on Ianto's shoulder.

He stiffens and glances down at Jack's hand before quickly looking away.

"That was unpleasant," he finishes, bring a hand up to cover his eyes.

"Unpleasant?" Jack repeats incredulously, hand _still_ on his shoulder. "Does...does _nothing_ scare you?"

Ianto brings his hand down to give Jack a strange look.

"What kind of question is that?" he scowls, uncomfortable.

"A valid one," Jack drawls, but there's something else besides ridicule on his face, something that Ianto doesn't like.

"'Course," Ianto asks looking away. "I don't mind dying, but drowning...like that. Not on the top of my list."

Jack doesn't say anything for a long time and when Ianto turns back to look at him he has the oddest look on his face that means that Ianto's gone and said something he shouldn't have again.

He leans in all of the sudden, and Ianto jerks back, just a bit, the intimacy of it all bringing on a sickly feeling in his stomach. Jack pauses just inches in front of his face, but does not withdraw, looking contemplative.

He reaches out to touch Ianto's face, a gesture that makes Ianto look away in embarrassment, heat rising in his cheeks. Jack kisses him then, softly, and Ianto lets his eyes shut, more to block his closeness out than any passion on his part.

This is why he hates Jack sometimes, hates him and his 51st century reasoning. Because in the 21st century, at least in Ianto's limited experience, you don't touch people you're having casual sex with like this. There has to be _some _categories, despite what Jack always complains about, otherwise nothing makes sense. There's labels like casual sex, flings, and relationships in the 21st century and they are different and separate from each other. You can't be having casual sex with someone and be surprised if they freak out when you keep kissing them gently and touching their face. But Jack doesn't seem to understand the concept of _boundaries_, apparently they don't exist in the 51st century, or, given John Hart's reaction to his trivialization of their...whatever they were, maybe it's just Jack.

It just doesn't make any sense. How are you ever supposed to have stable relationship with someone if there isn't at least a vague understanding of what you are to each other? It doesn't seem plausible, even in the far and distant future that human relations could be like that. For one, there would have to be a ridiculous amount of misunderstandings. You wouldn't know if someone liked you, loved you, or were just using you for sex _all the time_. Ianto is almost completely sure that what's between him and Jack is only the latter, but when Jack acts like this, acts so gentle and God, even _loving _it makes everything so much more difficult.

Ianto is in love with Captain Jack Harkness, has been for a while, but he's not stupid. He knows Jack doesn't see him like that and most likely never will. Ianto might be lucky at staying alive, but he's always been unlucky in love; familial, platonic, etc. Lisa had been his one chance, the one time where he thought he might've finally found something _right_, but she was dead now, and he'd made his peace with the fact that he wouldn't get another shot years ago. Shagging the boss is a really rather stupid move, but it's the closest he can get to the man, and anyway, there are far worse things in the world than being Jack Harkness' whore.

But when Jack looks at him sometimes, when he sleepily wraps his arm around him or shuffles up against him it's too much. It's too much like being with Lisa was, like being with someone who actually likes him for more than being a convenient warm body. Sex is one thing, but Jack's seemingly natural inclination for intimacy makes his skin crawl. It's terrifying because sometimes it feels like he's trying to lull him into a false sense of security and Ianto fears that one day he'll slip up and that all pretense of his cold, emotionless, _safe_ persona will shatter into a thousand pieces.

It gets harder everyday, harder to pretend to be aloof and uninterested, but he can do it if he has to. He's been lying his entire life, there are secrets that he's been keeping for more than twenty years, so he can do it. He has to. But, after all, soon he'll probably be dead and then at least he won't have to hide anymore.

It's not like Ianto wants to die, like he did years ago (but not enough to do anything about it.) Somehow, in-between Jack finding out about Lisa and Owen and Tosh's deaths, he's stopped thinking about death so much and more about life, and Torchwood, and the team. But either way, one way or another, Ianto Jones is going to die for Jack Harkness.

...Well, probably not _for_ the man himself. It'd be rather stupid to die for an immortal man, and Ianto doesn't flatter himself that he'll ever be that important, but he _will_ die for Jack Harkness' ideals, under his command. Of that he is sure.

And when it happens, it'll be a relief not to have to worry about Jack finding out about him, because he'll be dead, it'll be over, and he'll be _safe_.

(Sometimes, just sometimes, Ianto wonders if he clings to his lies because he knows nothing else, but then he thinks of how Jack would react if he knew and it strengthens his resolve.)

The only person who knew Ianto Jones, really knew him, through and through, is dead. Lisa is probably the only one who will ever know him too, in the end, and that's...tolerable. It's not good, or even okay, but he can tolerate it if he must. He'll do it if he has to, and he _does_ have to, because Jack wouldn't ever...it wouldn't even cross his mind to...and Ianto's pretty sure he's in love with the Doctor anyway. At first he thought, Gwen, but maybe not so much anymore. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

But he nearly died in a sewer today, or yesterday, choked on sea water until his lungs burst, so he grips the back of Jack's neck fiercely and kisses him back. He wraps his arms around his shoulders, getting his mouth open and groans as Jack presses him further back into the headboard. He tastes of morning breath, but so, so _alive_ and that's what Ianto wants right now.

Jack pushes off his shirt, breaking the kiss to mouth at his neck and Ianto groans and arches back, digging his fingernails into Jack's bare shoulders.

"That's right," Jack murmurs, messing with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "That's it, I've got you."

"Shut up," Ianto moans as Jack does something wicked with a slight twist of his wrist, even though he's knows it's in vain because Jack is and probably always will be a talker.

Jack pulls him closer by the hips, fingers bruising into his skin and eases him down onto his back. He ends up near diagonally splayed across the bed, looking up at Jack, who's got a worryingly thoughtful look on his face.

"You're so strange," he says, almost fondly, and Ianto is halfway through rolling his eyes when Jack leans over to kiss his chest, mouth aiming for a small curved scar below his lowest left rib that is a little too old to have been sustained while working at Torchwood.

Ianto grabs his arms and pulls him forward, Jack falling onto his chest with an unpleasant crushing sensation and Ianto kisses him aggressively, hard and rough. He wraps an arm around Jack's shoulders and pulls his trousers down with the other, focusing on Jack's smooth skin, lean muscles, and the tendons in his neck. Jack gasps into his mouth, and Ianto concentrates on forgetting the previous days' events, at least for now.

Gwen doesn't say anything, he doesn't expect her to, but she does give him these sympathetic looks every once and a while. For his part, Ianto mostly ignores them, because he really doesn't want to encourage her. He doesn't want her to feel sorry for him, he doesn't _need_ her to feel sorry for him, and he'd also rather not have her perception of his entire identity based off Jack.

Fortunately, they're a little too busy with only three people for her to dwell on it all that much and after the disaster with Freda, Gwen hesitantly broaches the subject of new recruits for the first time.

"We might've had a lot more trouble with Freda if not for his help," Gwen says imploringly, standing in front of Jack's desk with crossed arms. "And he dealt with the disaster with the Weevil attacks shockingly well. Rhys said he was invalu-"

"He's not suited to Torchwood work," Jack says for the second time, looking unusually grumpy. "He's a nice bloke, Davidson, but he wouldn't last a month here."

"He's not that different from me when I started," Gwen protests. "Look, a couple months ago I would've said the same thing, but Andy already knows about aliens, and he's been helpful to our investigations several times now, so why not just make it official?"

"Not freaking out about aliens is not my only criteria for recruitment," Jack scowls, his jaw setting stubbornly. Ianto leans up against the door-frame and settles in for a long row. "He doesn't have any skills we need right now. He's not a doctor or a tech, or even a researcher. We're not that desperate for extra hands that we need to be sniffing around _PC Andy Davi_-"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Gwen asks frostily, glaring at Jack. "And open your eyes, Jack! I haven't had a day off in two months! Jones has basically been _living _in the Hub for the past three weeks. Rhys is ready to rip his hair out because I haven't been coming home until ungodly hours of the night-"

"Oh, so this is all about Rhys now, is it?" Jack snipes immaturely.

"-and I haven't seen the top of your desk in ages," Gwen continues furiously, gesturing at the huge piles of papers that cover the desk. "We need help, Jack, otherwise someone is going to get killed!"

Jack stands abruptly, looking incensed. "That's not fair," he says lowly, digging her fingernails into the desk.

"Maybe not!" Gwen hisses. "But it doesn't mean it's not true!"

There's a pause where Gwen and Jack glare each other down, and Ianto is deciding between clearing his throat politely and just leaving them to their childish games when Jack suddenly turns to him.

"Well, what do you think?" he snaps, and Ianto blinks, surprised that he's asking him for his opinion.

"I do think Davidson would be up for the task," Ianto says slowly, taking a few steps forward to stand with Gwen in front of Jack. "With a little training, of cour-"

"See!" Gwen says triumphantly, spinning to face Jack again. "Jones thinks he would be-"

But Jack hold up his hand to silence her and it's a measure of Gwen's respect for him, even while in an argument, that she complies.

"Go on," he says disgruntledly.

"But we need someone with the police," Ianto continues. "Cooper's right, he's been useful, but a lot of the time it's _because_ he has access to police movements and information. We're only going to need that more and more since..." He pauses tactfully. "...since we don't have a tech."

"What are you suggesting?" Jack asks shrewdly.

"Compromise," Ianto replies confidently. "We induct him into Torchwood, train him, give him a badge, the usual procedure, but he continues to work with the police. And if we really need help with something we can ring him up."

"Huh," Gwen considers, pausing to mull it over. "You don't think that'll be a bit much for one person?"

Ianto shrugs. "It's completely up to him if he's up to it."

"I don't think the police will like it if he keeps disappearing on duty, though," Gwen continues worriedly.

"We can make him our official liaison if we have to," Ianto replies. "Though it'd be better if we can avoid that in case of interdepartmental politics."

"Okay," Gwen says decisively, nodding her approval. "I can live with that."

They both turn to Jack, who's looking less than pleased. Ianto wonders if Jack expected him to agree with him.

"You really think he's Torchwood material?" he asks incredulously.

"No," Ianto replies easily. "But I didn't think Cooper was Torchwood material when you hired her. I have no problem admitting that my usual standards are too restrictive in this case."

Jack narrows his eyes at the subtle jibe. "Meaning...?"

"We need new recruits," Ianto tells him bluntly. "Whether we're ready for them or not."

Jack scowls, but sits back in his seat, crossing his hands behind his head.

"I'll think about it," he says after a long pause and next to him, Gwen grinds her teeth together in frustration, but manages to resist the urge to comment.

Jacks spends the next few weeks "thinking about it," all through their trip to India and their near miss with several Krynoids, but it's only after he spends hours in a coma and he and Gwen have to recruit _Rhys_ to come and help them break the connection to the infected phone network, does he make his decision.

"Alright, fine!" he says, throwing his hand up dramatically the next morning as they come in for work. "Gwen, call up Davidson. It's on your head if he screws up, though!" he adds as Gwen cheers.

"One condition," Ianto adds as Gwen fumbles with her mobile. "I get to teach him how to shoot."

Jack raises his eyebrows. "Really. I didn't think he was your typ-"

Ianto rolls his eyes. "Strangely enough, sex is not always at the forefront of my mind."

"Pity," Jack mutters with a filthy grin and reaches out to play with the zipper of his vest.

Ianto stares, going very stiff. It's working hours now, and they're out in the open in the Hub and _Gwen_ is standing right there. What is he _doing_?

Jack seems to realize this too, after a few seconds and draws back, turning to watch Gwen excitedly make plans to meet up for coffee with Andy.

_ "You_ don't handle firearms properly," Ianto mumbles belatedly, before moving to the coffee machine.

Andy takes Torchwood...pretty well actually. He had already seen the Weevils, already come to terms with the fact that Freda was part alien and from the future, so the Hub and even the pterodactyl weren't received with much shock. He takes the alien technology scattered around the Hub and the powerful mainframe with nothing more than a healthy amount of curiosity. Strangely enough, the only thing that seems to bother him is Torchwood's near unlimited authority and access to government and private information.

"You mean, you lot could just go through my emails, without a warrant even?" he asks, looking thunderstruck.

"We've actually already gone through your emails," Jack says helpfully, despite Gwen's desperate silencing motions. "Oh, don't look at me like that. We had to make sure you weren't a drug dealer or a paedophile."

"You thought I was a paedophile?"

"Oh, no, no," Gwen says soothingly. "We just had to make sure, Andy. It's protocol, yeah? Like the background check before we could get into the Academy."

"So invasion of privacy is no big deal for you, then?" Andy asks uncomfortably. "And when you said Torchwood's beyond the government...you mean you can do whatever you like?"

"Yup."

"_No_," Ianto contradicts, rolling his eyes at Jack's pride. "We're funded by tax money."

"By the _Queen_!"

"Who gets her money from taxes. If we really did something that the government didn't like," he tells Andy, "they'd have no trouble shutting us down. We're _three _people. Four, maybe."

Jack scowls petulantly at Ianto for ruining his fun, but doesn't argue, because, after all, Ianto is _right_.

"Oh," Andy says, looking relieved. "Alright, then."

"I think I'm revoking your recruitment privileges," Gwen tells Jack later, rolling her eyes. "You almost managed to scare him off!"

"Hey, I recruited _you_ just fine," Jack protests, pulling on his military coat as they go out to investigate a Rift disturbance and Andy reads through the heavily revised Torchwood Foundation Charter in the other room.

"I was under the impression that she joined just to keep an eye on us, actually," Ianto says casually, looking through several CCTV cameras in the northwest Cardiff area.

"Hah!" Gwen laughs, grinning at Jack cheekily.

"I'm going to dock both your pays and give the extra to PC Andy," Jack mutters mutinously.

"Sergeant now. He was promoted after the Weevil attacks, " Gwen corrects and Jack rolls his eyes dramatically as if knowing the police rank of their newest recruit is beneath him.

"Though," Jack says suddenly, as if a thought just came to him. "I just realized...I'm going to be surrounded by those gorgeous accents _completely_ now."

He and Gwen both look at each other while Jack grins dreamily.

"If you help me overthrow him I'll let you drive the SUV," Ianto deadpans.

"Deal," Gwen says automatically.

"Not funny!" Jack scowls.

Andy's probation period passes quickly, mostly because he ends up only spending his weekends and nights off at the Hub as opposed to a full time employee. His naivete and general incompetence might've annoyed Ianto, but he's done this all before when they hired Gwen and she turned out alright. He just reminds himself to be optimistic and think about the fact that Andy hadn't released an evil sex gas alien on his first day, because that had to be a good thing, right?

But he's not a bad sort, and even if he was Ianto doesn't see him all that often.

And then, just as they are getting used to Andy Davidson's presence in the Hub, everything changes.

It starts with the planets and the Daleks, and Jack leaving and he and Gwen almost dying and getting trapped in Tosh's time lock, but despite the exploded Daleks all over the world that they're going to have to collect, the real change happens when Jack comes _back_.

After the bubble switched itself off, both he and Gwen split, Gwen to check on Rhys and Ianto to check on Rhiannon and her family. It's clearly not the way his sister would have liked him to meet her children, but she is so overwhelmed with the relief at the planets disappearing and the Daleks exploding that she hugs him so tightly he can barely breathe and drags him in for a cuppa. Rhiannon's children stare at his vest and his guns with wide eyes, and even Johnny seems vaguely disturbed by his attire, so when someone tries to steal the SUV, it's almost a relief. After dragging several teenagers away from the company car, Ianto says his awkward goodbyes and drives back to Cardiff to pick up Gwen, figuring he might as well call it a victory.

When they return to the Hub, he and Gwen call Andy and together the three of them are inspecting the destroyed Dalek when the cog door rolls open.

"Jack," Gwen breathes in shock, because like Ianto, some part of her had worried that Jack would just end up _staying _with the Doctor. Even _he_ hadn't expected Jack to be back quite so soon.

"Told you I'd come back!" Jack crows triumphantly and Ianto focuses on appearing as unconcerned as possible, all too aware of the rapid tattoo of his heart against his breastbone and the urge to hit him, or possibly snog him.

He bites his lip and turns back to crouch in front of the Dalek again with the pretense of examining its cracked exterior when it gets to be too much, and he becomes uncertain he can control his emotions properly.

But Jack isn't alone. He's brought two people with him.

"Martha!" Gwen smiles, striding forward to hug her. "Oh, my God, it's so good to see you!"

"Did you make all the wheely aliens explode?" Andy asks curiously, blinking at Martha and the unfamiliar man beside her who's holding a large gun over his shoulder, not unlike the one Jack took before teleporting away. "How was that, then?"

"Extremely satisfying," Jack says cheerfully and then pauses, continuing in an annoyed sort of voice. "God, Jones, do you ever stop working? We just saved the universe from _imploding._"

Ianto looks up from the Dalek to see his irritated face and resists the urge to roll his eyes at Jack's self-centered need to be acknowledged whenever he enters the bloody room.

"Just trying to figure out what we're going to do with these, sir," he says politely, trying his best not to sound too passive-aggressive. "It's likely they'll be one on every street, from the reports."

This does not appease Jack in the least, it seems, and he folds his arms over his chest sullenly.

"This is Martha Jones, Andy," Gwen says after a beat when it appears that Jack's too wrapped up in his own resentment to make introductions. "She's a doctor with UNIT-that's the Unified Intelligence Taskforce- who's helped us in the past."

Martha smiles at Andy good-naturedly, eyes running over Ianto briefly before quickly looking away. Brilliant.

"Mickey Smith," the man with the gun says gruffly, surveying the Hub with interest. "So this is the Torchwood that's been blocking all my hacks. Expected it to be a bit more impressive."

"Hey!" Jack complains. "We do alright!"

"Huh," Smith says dismissively, putting Ianto's rather irrational fears that he's another of Jack's ex-lovers to rest.

"This is Gwen Copper, Andy Davidson, and Jones," Jack introduces, proving for the millionth time that he either can't remember Ianto's name or pronounce it.

Smith nods briefly and wanders past the Dalek up the stairs, immediately starting to mess around with the computer.

"Er..." Andy starts hesitantly. "Is he supposed to be doing that?"

"Hey, Mickey Mouse!" Jack yells instead of answering. "Want a job?"

Smith sticks his head out from behind the monitor. "Working for _you_? Hell, no."

"Aw, c'mon," Jack continues, undeterred. "It'll be fun. I'll reckon you'll use that gun at least once a week."

Smith appears to consider this. "Alright," he says finally. "But no more bloody nicknames! And I want a holiday before I start!"

"Fine, fine," Jack says magnanimously, as if holidays are for the weak. "Martha? What about you?"

Martha bites her lip. "I dunno, Jack," she says worriedly. "I'd just been promoted and everything."

"Promoted to Osterhagen Keys!" Jack replies emphatically, though Ianto still has no idea what an Osterhagen Key is. "I'm trusting UNIT less and less these days, that's for sure."

"I'll think about it," Martha says, trying for serious, but spending way too much energy trying to hide her smile to be convincing.

Ianto bets she'll be a regular fixture in the Hub within the week.

Gwen assails Jack with questions then, and Martha chats casually with Andy about how working at Torchwood is going for him, pointedly ignoring him all the while. Ianto glances up to where Smith is still on the computer and realizes that if everything is as it seems and he's going to be their new tech, surely he'll look up the files of his future colleagues.

Lovely.

_"Here we go again_," Ianto thinks resignedly and gets back to work.

* * *

><p>"Drinks," Andy Davidson moans pathetically, dropping down into Gwen's chair and collapsing forward onto her desk. "Now. Because I plan on being sloshed when Swanson kills me tomorrow."<p>

"I don't think-" Gwen starts.

"Forty-three missed calls, Gwen," Andy tells her, holding up his mobile. "_Forty-three_."

"Who's Swanson?" Martha Jones asks curiously.

"My actual boss," Andy says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Jack's only my _secret_ boss. I am a _secret_ Torchwood Agent."

Gwen laughs at that and Andy tries not to be too pleased, or at least let his feelings show on his face. He knows it's stupid and Gwen's married, but what can you do?

Martha just looks confused.

"Andy's our liaison with the police," Gwen explains.

"_Secret_ liaison!" Andy interjects.

"-which they don't actually know about," Gwen continues with a bit of a grin.

"So you're a spy," Smith confirms, looking around at him for the first time since he started his slightly disturbing love affair with Toshiko Sato's computer.

"Not _really_," Andy says reasonably, even though it sounds much more flash that way. "I just make it easier for Torchwood to deal with the police. Otherwise they just snipe at each other at crime scenes-"

"We do not!" Gwen protests and then pauses. "Well, maybe Jack-"

"_Maybe _Jack?"

Martha laughs and even Smith gives an amused smirk. Andy grins, but he's all too aware that if Martha Jones and Mickey Smith become full Torchwood members his time at Torchwood will be severely limited.

It's a bit childish because Andy's always thought of himself as a rational, levelheaded man, but he doesn't want to _leave_. Torchwood is small, dangerous and terrifying on more than one level, his boss has "accidentally" groped him at least twice, not to mention all the inappropriate comments, and completely _mad_, but so fucking brilliant.

"You can't go back, after Torchwood," Gwen had warned over coffee when she first informed him that they were looking for new recruits. "It's so very dangerous, but at the same time, utterly _wonderful_, too. But nothing is ever the same. Believe me when I say, _everything_ changes."

He remembers nearly rolling her eyes at her dramatization. It was just a job, albeit a very unorthodox, chaotic one. Andy was always the careful one and wouldn't have joined some shady organization out of the blue, but Gwen was there and she seemed to like it. He could use some excitement besides breaking up bar fights and directing traffic. Being a copper, even a sergeant now, hadn't been all it's cracked up to be, but all his years at the Academy and training won't have gone to waste if he could get into Torchwood, right?

But Gwen had been right, of course. Torchwood changed everything.

It was small at first, but after the first few weeks Andy's entire perspective of the world, of the _universe_, had changed. There wasn't just Earth, a blue planet floating in a great mass of nothingness. There were other planets, other stars, other _life_. Aliens weren't always evil, vicious creatures like the rogue Weevils that had attacked the police station. Some were good and clever, some even looked like humans! (Which helps Andy's brain a bit when Jack jokes about all the aliens he's shagged.)

There was no going back from this job, not unless they retconned him, and even if he was alright with the idea of Torchwood erasing weeks of his memories, why would he _want_ to go back? What could possibly compare to this? Even the MI5 snobs couldn't have jobs as interesting as _alien_-catching. All he thinks about when he's at the station, or supervising the new constables, is when he'll get to go back to the Hub and do some _real_ work. It's not fair to think like that, because Andy knows that there'd be chaos if no one made sure that people followed the speed limit or broke up fights, but now that he knows that there's _so much_ else out there...

But he's not a doctor, or good with computers, so he understands, however reluctantly.

"So..." Martha says, looking around the Hub carefully. "Still haven't gotten rid of Jones yet?"

"What?" Gwen frowns, looking confused.

Andy immediately checks to see if Jones is in the room, but both he and Jack have been gone putting all the Daleks they collected throughout the long day in storage. They've been in the basement for the last twenty minutes...and well, Andy hasn't asked. They might think they're being discreet about all the kinky sex he imagines they're having, but it's rather obvious.

Also, Gwen told him.

"You know," Martha continues, looking at Gwen strangely. "He's still here. I thought you'd been working on-"

"What've you got against Jones?" Andy asks disapprovingly, because sure, the man's a little uptight and trigger-happy, but who is _she_ to come in and criticize their operation?

"What about 'im?" Smith asks curiously.

"He doesn't _know_?" Martha gapes, staring at Andy.

"Know what?" Andy scowls, looking between the look of horror on Martha's and the one of confusion on Gwen's.

"Oh," Smith says suddenly, after a few keystrokes. Andy looks over to see him staring at the monitor in disgust.

"Oh, God," Gwen blurts out, realization dawning on her pretty face. "Oh, no, oh, Martha, I'm so-it's not true."

Martha frowns. "What's not true? You mean-"

"What I told you last time," Gwen says frantically, looking strangely upset. "Oh, Christ, I didn't mean to-but we only found out a couple weeks after you left. I didn't know that he didn't-"

"Are you talking about the thing with his girlfriend?" Smith interrupts.

"Jones has a _girlfriend_?" Andy says in shock. "Isn't he _ga_-"

"That's still on there?" Gwen yelps, running up the stairs to crouch behind the computer screen. "I though Tosh would've...but I suppose she forgot..."

Andy comes up behind her to look at an excerpt of Jones' file which Smith has brought up on the screen. Oh. _That_ girlfriend.

"It's not true," Gwen whispers desperately as Martha comes to stand next to her. "For a long while we thought it was because he didn't- he never said-"

"So the file's wrong then?" Andy asks, relief chasing away the cold feeling in his chest. "But why-"

"Yes, yes," Gwen says, leaning over to delete the paragraph in question from Jones' records.

"How exactly does that work, though?" Martha asks doubtfully.

"Yeah, I'm with her," Smith adds, crossing his arms and looking up expectantly at Gwen.

"Look," Gwen says, flustered, looking at them all helplessly. "I can't-I swear on my _life_ that it's not true, right? I just can't...It's not my place."

"But-" Martha starts.

"Don't say anything," Gwen orders and turns away, a harsh tone of finality silencing their questions.

Martha and Smith both look up at him, but Andy just shrugs his shoulders.

"Leave it," he advises, because he may not know the whole story, but he trusts Gwen enough to know when to back off. And if she's this upset about it, it must be something really serious.

There's an awkward silence and then Jones pops up from the basement, holding several bags of what looks like pieces of squids as far away from his body as he can.

"What are _those?_" Andy yelps.

"Daleks, apparently," Jones say in disgust. "They're inside the metal casing. We have to take them out and put them in cold storage otherwise they'll rot."

"Harkness wants you to take a look at one of 'em," Jones tells Martha, throwing a bag unceremoniously down into the med bay where it hits the autopsy table with a clang.

"Oh..." Martha says, looking at him strangely. "Er...alright, I'll get on...that."

"We're going to need some help down there, Davidson," he continues.

Andy coughs and clears his throat awkwardly.

Jones gives him an odd look.

"Right!" Andy says quickly, turning to walk down the stairs towards to follow him into basement and trying not to think about the Torchwood orgies that Swanson always hinted that she thought the entire team was having.

* * *

><p>With just the right amount of cajoling, flattery, and flirtation (he has noticed that Martha is no longer wearing her engagement ring,) Jack Harkness succeeds in tempting Martha into joining Torchwood. Because he is. Just. That. Good.<p>

"Okay, team!" he grins a couple days later, happy to be using the conference room again.

Gwen and Martha smile up at him indulgently, while Mickey rolls his eyes and Andy tries to look as if he isn't worried Jack is going to suggest a "No Clothing" rule in the Hub. Honestly, Jack has no idea where Andy'd get the idea that he would be interested in such a policy. Jones just looks bored and unimpressed.

"Welcome to Torchwood," he says proudly. "We're outside the government, beyond-"

"-the police," Gwen interrupts drolly, an amused smile plastered on her face. "The 21st century is when-"

"-everything changes," Jones finishes apathetically, "and you've got to be ready."

"Or else the aliens kill us all," Andy adds.

Jack scowls at them. "Wait to ruin my fun," he mutters darkly.

"Please tell me that's not your motto or something," Mickey says incredulously.

"If we'd let him, it would be," Gwen jokes.

"Also, the pterodactyl would be named 'Myfanwy,'" Jones deadpans.

"Hey, I _like_ the name 'Myfanwy!'" Jack protests, wondering when they all stopped being all nice and respectful and started giving him so much crap.

"Really, though," Gwen continues, smiling at Martha and Mickey. "We're glad you've decided to join. Just remember not to mess with the Rift-"

"Watch out for the alien slime," Andy emphasizes with a knowing look.

"Don't touch Jones' coffee machine," Gwen warns and Jack bites back a smile.

"Also," Jones says casually, "if you have any deep, dark secrets you're hiding, now would best be the time to own up to them, cos they're going to come out one way or another."

Jack stiffens and exchanges a wide-eyed look with Gwen, who has gone very white. Martha, too, looks a little uncomfortable, while Andy just looks a little confused.

"Er," Mickey breaks the silence, raising his hand like he's back in school. "I spent the last two and a half years in an alternate universe fighting Cybermen."

They all turn to look at him, Jack raising an eyebrow, impressed. He knew Mickey must have seen some action, because he's certainly become more confident and battle-ready, but he hadn't heard about the alternate universe _or_ the Cybermen. Good on him.

"Oh," Andy says faintly. "Just for fun or..."

He trails off as Mickey scowls at him, and Jack notices Jones eyeing the other man with renewed interest.

Ignoring the jealously twisting in his gut, Jack grins. "Right, where were we?" he asks cheerfully.

It's weird, having the Hub so full again and he knows Jones and Gwen think so too, but neither of them say anything and they try to make Martha and Mickey feel welcome. Well, Gwen tries, Jones just sort of watches them warily, after a while apparently decides they're not a threat, and then proceeds to mostly ignore them. His usual way of dealing with things, then.

Jones is...well, he's starting to annoy Jack lately. More than normal anyway. When Jack came back from, you know, _saving the universe_, he barely looked at him. Jones has never been demonstrative, but Jack's beginning to feel a bit neglected. It's not a sudden feeling, more one that's been a long time coming, but that doesn't mean it didn't twinge a bit when Jones just _ignored_ him. He's always been like this of course, even after they started sleeping together, and it's not like Jack's had any illusions about that either. But by nature, Jack likes touch, _luxuriates _in it, while Jones only seems to tolerate it for the sake of sex, always eager to leave his bedroom once they're through. Lately Jack's been getting in the habit of purposefully trying to wear him out and it's been a pretty successful strategy in making Jones stick around, even though he's always irritated in the morning.

He knows that no good can come out of this, not when Jones is so clearly uninterested in him on anything but a physical level, but Jack has never been very good at letting things go. He's still determined to wring as many human emotions out of Jones yet, determined to get him to say 'Jack' instead of 'Harkness,' and let Jack be something more to him than the boss he occasionally has casual sex with. But Jones certainly isn't making it easy for him, and while Jack likes a challenge, it's hard not to get discouraged.

He can't just think about Jones though, he has a responsibility to all his employees, has to make sure that Gwen doesn't wear herself out trying to shows all their new recruits the ropes, that Andy doesn't get lost in the undertow of those with bigger personalities, that Mickey doesn't feel too much pressure to live up to Tosh's brilliance, and most pressingly, that Martha doesn't bury herself completely in her work.

"How have you been, Martha?" he asks seriously, gesturing her into his office right as everyone's leaving for the day.

"I've been...good," she says with obvious hesitation.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and sits on the corner of his desk. "Anything you want to talk about?" he proceeds carefully, eyeing her left ring finger.

For a second Martha draws herself up, looking insulted, but then she sighs, deflates even, and slumps into the plush chair in front of his desk.

"How long?" Jack asks.

"Two months," she replies wearily, bringing her head down to rest in her hands.

"Who ended it?"

"I did," she sighs sadly. "It was stupid, we didn't know each other that well in the first place before we decided to get married and I was trying so hard to forget _him_...but it wasn't out of the blue. We both realized at some point that it wasn't going to work, I just...finished it."

Jack slips off the desk to touch her shoulders and she slowly raises her head.

"I don't," she whispers and he's shocked to see tears in her eyes. "I don't know how you do it. Sometimes I wish I just forgot like the rest of them. It was just so...that year changed everything. I was so young and the things I've seen..."

She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself and Jack kisses her forehead gently before moving back to kneel in front of the chair.

"I've been trying so hard to be okay. I thought that if Tom- if I had one good thing come out of it, I would be alright, but..."

She takes a shaky breath and sits up straight.

"My dad's in a psychiatric hospital," she admits suddenly. "He had a mental breakdown six weeks after we came home. Mum barely leaves the house and Leo doesn't even talk to us anymore. He wasn't on the Valiant, so he doesn't believe it even happened. Thinks we're all mad. And Tish, she dropped out of night school and she's working at a library now. Says she likes the quiet."

"Do you see them often?" Jack asks softly.

Martha shakes her head. "It's too hard," she says hoarsely. "Brings back too many memories. It was like...because when you're with the Doctor, things don't always seem real, you know?"

Jack nods. He knows this quite well, possibly more than anyone else. He's certainly had the time to think about it.

"You go places, you go to these _amazing _places, but then you always leave," Martha explains, almost wistfully. "There's always danger and running, lots of running, but it always _ends_. But that year...nothing could seem more real. Even now, I sometimes think this life is a dream and that any second I'm going to wake up. I have a hard time remembering that I'm twenty-six, not twenty-seven."

"I get it. I watched Owen die, twice," Jack tells her bitterly. "After the first time, after that year was over, I swore that I'd protect them, but..."

"I thought everything would be perfect just because the Master was dead and the Earth was saved," Martha finishes. "And, Tom..."

Jack grips her shoulders tightly and she lets out a wet laugh. "He believed me, you know," she says softly. "I mean, I had to completely abuse my position at UNIT to prove that aliens and time-travel existed, but he believed me. But it wasn't the same. _He _wasn't the same and..."

She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes slowly. "Oh, Jack," she sighs. "I fell in love with someone who doesn't even exist anymore. I fell in love with a possibility, not a fact. And it's a possibility that will never come to pass."

"I know," Jack says gently. "I understand, more than you know."

"You do," she agrees, nodding almost convulsively. "That's why I couldn't say no to you. I had to stay because-what do you mean, more than you know?"

Jack grimaces because until now he hasn't told a soul, but maybe...maybe Martha will understand.

"Jones," he tells her seriously, standing up and glancing down at the man as he shows Andy how to do something on the computer through his office windows. "When I was on the Valiant...he was the last member of my team that survived and he came to rescue me."

He turns back to Martha to see her blinking at him in surprise.

"He died for me," he tells her. "And it's not like he didn't know what he was doing. At the time, I didn't really know anything about him. We all still thought-what his file said-"

"The thing with his girlfriend, you mean?" Martha asks curiously. "Gwen said that it wasn't...it wasn't true."

"No, it wasn't," Jack confirms, turning back to watch Jones rolling his eyes at Andy's ineptitude. "But none of us knew that then. Torchwood One had just fallen, right before everything went to hell, and I was actually planning to get rid of him. Couldn't, after that."

"It'll take time," he says after a brief pause, coming to stand in front of her again. "But it'll get better, I promise."

She nods. "I know. I just have to go through the motions, yeah? One day at a time."

"One day at a time," Jack echos. "You're a wiser woman than I, Martha Jones."

"You're hardly a woman, Jack," Martha jokes, smiling genuinely for the first time since she came to work at Torchwood.

"Wellllll, there was that one time-"

"Oh, stoppit!" she giggles. "You know, I don't believe half the words that come out of your mouth."

"Oh, I forgot to ask," Jack adds as she turns to leave. "You're coming to Dempsey's on Friday for Gwen's thirtieth, right?"

"Sure," Martha replies with a small smile. "Thanks, Jack."

He nods and watches her descend the stairs and cross the Hub to the cog door until she's out of sight.

Gwen's thirtieth birthday celebration almost doesn't happen thanks to Cardiff's increasingly problematic Weevil infestation, so it's almost midnight by the time they get to the pub. They're all exhausted when the meet an annoyed Rhys at the entrance, Andy has six stitches and Martha a bloody nose, but on the bright side, Jones is too tired to make an excuse as to why he can't come so Jack gleefully drags him along.

Gwen bemoans her old age while Mickey and Martha become acquainted with Rhys, and Andy keeps boasting about his stitches and actually takes up Jack's drinking challenge. Of course, Jack has several more decades experience with alcohol so he easily drinks the sergeant under the table (literally) and at the end of the night the bartender has to kick them out along with the rest of the rowdy footballers.

"I know you're drunk, but is this really necessary?" Jones asks tiredly as Jack leans against him and grabs his arse for the third time since they left the pub.

He's not really all that drunk; he could walk straight if he really wanted to, but it's a great excuse to fling himself all over Jones and get his hands all over his body without the usual consequences. He smells great too, Jack thinks as he presses his nose into Jones' neck and lets out an obscene giggle.

Martha lives close enough to walk home and Gwen, Rhys, Andy, and Mickey have all piled into a cab, and leave it to Jones to take Jack back to the Hub.

"God, here's the car. Just stay put while I-oi, where are you grabbing?"

Jones shoves him rather unceremoniously against door of the SUV, cursing under his breath. He gets the door open and nudges him into the passenger seat while Jack lets out a groan that has nothing to do with his roughness and everything to do with the blood that rushing in not exactly the direction of his brain.

There's a muffled sound of footsteps and then Jones is shutting the door behind him and sticking his hand in the pocket of Jack's coat for the keys. Jack grabs his wrist before he can pull them out and slowly turns to smirk deviously at Jones.

"Give me the keys, Harkness," Jones says impatiently, sounding rather like he's on his last nerve. "I can't be your bloody designated driver if you won't even let me-"

Jack lets his other hand slide up Jones' thigh and tightens his grip on his wrist.

Jones goes very stiff. "Absolutely not," he says tightly, looking irritated in the dim light of a streetlight several meters away. "We're in a-"

Lightening fast, Jack reaches for the recliner at his side and yanks it up as far as it will go. Jones' seat descends with a muffled crash and Jack clambers over him to straddle his hips.

"What the hell are yo-Mmmf!"

Jack shoves his tongue into Jones' mouth, digging his hands into the material of Jones' collared shirt that he traded with his vest before heading out to the bar. It makes him look so average and _respectable_, which only makes Jack want to debauch him in it all the more.

Jones makes a muffled sound of outrage into his mouth and shoves him back by the shoulders. "Get _off_ me, Harkness!"

Working fast, Jack gets the buttons on his trousers open while Jones snarls and tries to push him away.

"We're parked right in front of a greengrocers, you prat! What are you play-ah!"

Jack smirks as Jones' face contorts and he falls back against the headrest to pant harshly.

"Are you...really..." Jones grits out while Jack sucks a red mark onto a particularly sensitive place on his neck. "Mmmph, Harkness! Harkness, wai-"

"Jack," Jack whispers in his ear and Jones lets out a gasp as he pushes down his trousers past his hips. "C'mon, say it. I'll let you be my designated driver."

Jones lets out a noise that could be a groan or a laugh or both and grips his shoulders tightly.

"Hark-ness," he enunciates stubbornly, but he pulls Jack closer nonetheless. "You're...drunk, now, c'mo-"

"Oh, let's," Jack groans, bringing up one hand to rub at the other man's hard nipples though his shirt and kissing him forcefully.

Jones responds eagerly for a few seconds before twisting his head away to the side, even though his hips are still thrusting upwards to meet Jack's right hand.

"You're pissed," Jones grinds out while Jack mouths the place right below his right ear. "You're really not in the right mind to be-"

"Oh, please," Jack groans, wanting skin and sex and kinda to come all over Jones' respectable shirt. "I'm easy and horny. Stop being all noble and _fuck me_."

Jones moans at that, shaking violently under Jack's hands, but refuses to relent.

"Not in the...d-driver's seat of the company car," he gasps out.

"Would you rather we moved to the back seat?" Jack breathes into his ear.

"Not funny, Harkn-Mgh, fine, _Jack_!"

"That's it," Jacks husks, intent on getting Jones to just lay back and let it go. "C'mon, right here, right now, let's go."

"Jack, wait-" Jones breathes, but then he gives that _delicious_ throaty groan that means that Jack's got him, he _has_ him now, and he's going to bring Jones off in the front seat of the Torchwood SUV if it's the last thing he does.

"Fuck, I want you," Jack moans rather unnecessarily in Jones' ear, sliding his unoccupied hand up Jones' shirt before relocating it to a much more sensitive area.

Jones clutches his shoulders almost painfully.

"You want _everyone_," Jones hisses in reply, and Jack would protest, but then he's burying his face in his neck, letting out a series of sinfully hot gasps and moans until he finally spasms one last time in Jack's arms and collapses back against the reclined seat.

Even though he's only gotten part of what he wants, Jack can't help but smirk down at Jones' breathless and mussed form. He presses a kiss to the place right above his collar and wipes his hand on the seat, reminding himself to ignore Jones' demands that he shut up during sex because it turns out he certainly has a kink for dirty talk.

"Arse," Jones hisses out once he's regained his breath and punches him loosely in the shoulder. "I just washed these trousers."

"_That's_ the most pressing issue on your mind right now," Jack scowls, pushing back his coat and kneeling back a little so Jones really has no choice but to look at his crotch. "Aren't you going to return the favor?"

"No," Jones replies peevishly, pushing him away. "Not here, get off."

"Trying," Jack retorts, leaning wantonly against the steering well now. "What, you want a show? 'Cause I can do that."

"God, no," Jones replies, bruising Jack's ego a bit. "Not here, I said. Wait until we get back to the Hub or I swear I'm cutting you off."

"Your place is closer," Jack says helpfully.

Jones narrows his eyes. "Fine," he agrees, despite his suspicious look. "Now, shift."

Jack rolls his eyes, but extricates himself from Jones' lap and settles himself back into the passenger seat.

"Prude," he grumbles, fishing out the keys from his coat pocket and tossing them to Jones.

"Exhibitionist," Jones retorts, adjusting his seat and trousers, and starting up the car.

"And proud of it," Jack replies with an easy grin, but Jones doesn't even glance at him as he turns his head to slowly maneuver the SUV out of the parallel parking space.

"Can't you go any faster?" Jack complains, squirming uncomfortably for the umpteenth time since Jones started driving.

"I'm already going over the speed limit," Jones says succinctly, and Jack has to smirk proudly at that, at the proof that he's making the ever composed and aloof man impatient with lust.

"Hurry up," Jack says decadently, letting his hands slip to his belt.

"Don't you dare," Jones tells him coldly. "If we get pulled over, I'd rather not be arrested for obscenity as well as having to pay the fine."

"We're Torchwood," Jack rolls his eyes at him. "The police'll hardly pull us over. Besides, even if they did, gotta love a man in uniform. Or woman. Or alien life-form. We could always ask them to join."

He barely suppresses a groan as his overactive imagination supplies him with how gorgeous Jones would look spread out underneath a handsome young policeman, or maybe how he'd sound like with an eager PC wearing one of those delectable pencil skirts going down on him. Or did police still carry around those baton-

"Sorry," Jones says dryly, cutting off his smut filled reverie. "I don't sleep with people I don't know."

"Really?" Jack asks curiously, sitting up to get a better look at him mostly to distract his brain from the images of Jones in various positions and states of undress flashing across his eyes. "Why?"

Jones gives him a strange look before turning back to focus on the road. "It's not particularly advisable for one."

21st century humans, Jack thinks, shaking his head at him. Though he supposes that because STDs are still such a problem it's not completely mad.

"What's your scorecard anyway?" Jack asks curiously, but also to keep his mind off considering how brilliant Jones looks while in intense concentration...strong hands gripping the steering wheel, lips slightly swollen from Jack's kisses...

Jones scowls. "Three," he mutters as they turn a corner.

"Three...hundred?" Jack supplies and Jones gives him an insulted look as he pulls into the parking space in front of his building.

"No," he says shortly, undoing his seat belt and tossing the keys back. "Three as in the single digit. Including you."

"_Why_?" is all Jack can think to ask. He must've slept with hundreds, maybe even a thousands of people by the time he was twenty-five. And even though this is the 21st century, three seems like such a _small_ number for the average British male his age.

Jones rolls his eyes as he opens the door, making a face at the mess that is his trousers and the seat. "Are you coming or not?"

"Right," Jack blinks and Jones shuts the door behind him.

For a few seconds, Jack just grins there in the dark, before realizing that Jones is leaving without him and clambers out of the car.

He's extremely patient (if he does say so himself) until Jones gets the key in his door, and then Jack pounces. Jack pushes him against his flat door the second it closes behind them and presses his mouth to Jones' roughly. Jones lets out a surprised breath, but doesn't push him away, instead pulls him in by the waist. Jones slides his hands inside his coat and then pushes it off, shoving it down his arms and onto the floor.

"Hey," Jack protests between kisses. "That's not cheap to clea-"

"Shut up," Jones groans, sliding a thigh between Jack's legs and he moans, rocking against it.

Jones loses the shirt and his boots halfway to the bedroom, which is a bit of a shame because Jack had _plans_ for that shirt, and Jack unbuckles his belt.

"'Never trust a man who wears a belt and suspenders,'" Jones mutters as he pushes off his braces and unbuttons his shirt. Jack grins smugly against his neck and bites down, relishing the groan that forces itself through Jones' lips.

"You really have awful manners in the bedroom," Jack tells him as he divests him of his collared shirt and dumps it on the floor.

"Look who's talking," Jones retorts and shoves him down to the bed.

Jack lets out a surprised gasp that quickly turns into a moan as Jones clambers over him, pushing his undershirt up. Jack grabs his shoulders and pulls him down to meet his mouth, kissing him furiously as Jones pulls down his trousers and underwear.

"What do you want?" Jack asks, even though he has a good idea. But he asks anyway, just in case Jones will deviate from the norm and tell him, give him even the tiniest amount of trust to work with. Because there isn't any trust between them, there isn't _anything_ between them, just sex and work, and maybe that used to be enough for Jack, but it certainly isn't anymore.

Jones does not tell him. He doesn't say a word, just scoffs and rolls his eyes like he always does, as if words and trust are overly sentimental shades of a distant time. He makes Jack feel young in the worst ways possible.

"Mmmagh," Jack moans, trying to quell the disappointment and heartache that pools in his chest and kicking away the last of his clothes. "You are so slow, you bastard. C'mon, fuck me, fuck me hard, _fuck m_-"

"Shut up!" Jones hisses, drawing back to get the lube and condoms out of his bedside table drawer, looking almost embarrassed in the dim light from the street below.

Jack smirks and sits up, wrapping his thighs around Jones' hips and drawing him in closer. Jones raises an eyebrow, draping his arms lightly over the tops of Jack's shoulders, and uncaps the bottle behind Jack's neck with a lurid popping noise.

"Hello there," Jack purrs and bites at his jaw, taking one of his hands in his and drawing it up to his mouth to suck delicately on Jones' pointer finger.

Jones gives a heady groan of pleasure, face flushing with arousal, and Jack smiles up at him innocently.

"God," Jones groans a couple rounds later, and rolls off him, collapsing onto his pillow and breathing heavily.

"It's Jack, actually," Jack grins, turning over onto his stomach. "But I can understand the mix-up."

Jones scoffs at this, but appears to be too out of breath to come up with a proper reply. Jack bends his elbow and braces his head against his hand, watching him slowly catch his breath, his chest rising and falling, skin stretched taut over his ribs and abdominal muscles, the streetlight below highlighting the marks all over his torso. He likes him like this; all loose-limbed and satisfied, coming down from his high with trembling hands. Any second he's going to grunt something out like "My alarm goes off at five" and turn his back on Jack, but for now he's still in Jack's thrall, still _his_.

"Where'd you get that one?" Jack finds himself asking suddenly and touches the third degree burn scar right over his heart.

Jones shifts uncomfortably at the touch, glancing down at Jack's finger as if he's not sure which mark he's pointing at.

"Had a mission intercepting some dealers of alien tech," he replies easily. "I got caught and they tried to set me on fire."

Jack's eyes go wide and he stares down at Jones in shock. Even with all the scars, sometimes it's hard to remember that Jones had a whole another life at Torchwood One, a whole another life away from _him_.

"Wasn't that bad," Jones shrugs, preempting Jack's horrified question. "Just remembered "Stop, drop, and roll," and I was fine."

Jack might've believed that, but he's been set on fire before, granted with a much more lethal outcome, and it's one of the more painful ways to go.

"What about this one?" Jack asks, pushing at his shoulder to touch the acid burn on his back, just below his right shoulder.

"Rogue Optera," Jones replies, looking in vain over his own should to see the burn. "Acidic blood."

"Were there really that many alien species in London?" Jack asks sceptically.

"I wasn't just in London," Jones replies, laying back down to rest his head on his crossed arms. "My job was mostly to protect scientists and analysts out in the field. I've been to Peru, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Laos, Estonia, France, Russia, Iceland, Turkey, Curaçao, Colombia, Suriname, Botswana, Malaysia, New Zealand and Eritrea all on Torchwood's tab. Had been to India before too."

"Huh," Jack says, mulling this over. It seems like the more questions he asks, the more he finds out he doesn't know a clue about the man he is currently lying next to.

"What about that one?" he asks next, pointing to a small, old looking mark beneath his left rib.

"That's old," Jones says gruffly, probably getting weary of Jack's questions. "Had a run in with a barbed wire fence when I was a kid."

Jack eyes the mark carefully and works his gaze over the stiff line of Jones' body

"Does that story usually work?" Jack asks casually, cold dread settling into his stomach.

He's been around long enough to recognize the shape the tongue of a belt makes on skin.

Jones lets out sharp puff of air, but doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling.

"Yeah," he says softly.

He rolls away onto his side then, pulling the duvet and sheets over his naked hips.

Jack watches his back for a long time, opens his mouth, but closes it a few seconds later and closes his eyes.

He spends most of the night wondering what the hell he's supposed to _say_ to what Jones implied there. Jack knows what he wants to do, he wants to curl up against his back, run his hands through his short hair, and murmur soothing words into his ear. He wants to stroke Jones' face, kiss his forehead gently, and say something, _anything, _that will make it better because this's been about more than casual sex for him for a while now.

But he's wise enough to know that that would hardly work with even the most emotionally extroverted person, much less Jones, who couldn't even tell them that he hadn't murdered his girlfriend despite three years of working in Cardiff.

So he just tries to get some sleep and not let the doubts worry away at him from the inside.

They don't talk about it in the morning, or in the few weeks after that. Jack wants to bring it up, but he knows he shouldn't. It's not his place, and he thinks that Jones might shoot him if he did.

**A/N: Part IV! The emo continues! Anyway, as ever, many thanks to my betas Sleeping Soundly and Resonance and d. I'm sorry I fail so hard at commas, guys. **

**If you have any questions or comments please review!  
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	5. Part V

Part V-

Just around the time that Mickey has finally figured his way around the mainframe, Jack Harkness gets a call from Frobisher reminding him of their yearly meeting about Torchwood's budget. Jack rolls his eyes, partly because, honestly, hasn't he discovered videoconferencing yet, and partly because Frobisher is one of the most boring people on the planet.

But he doesn't have a choice, so he leaves Gwen in charge and goes off to London to crack jokes that the uptight bastards won't even get, shamelessly use the catastrophe with the planets to wrangle Torchwood a bigger budget, and, well, look dashing.

He's just crossing Severn Bridge when his ear piece pings and he's pleasantly surprised to hear Jones on the other end.

"Harkness," Jones says, sounding rather breathless. "Quick questio-"

"Did you miss me already?" Jack replies teasingly. "Well, c'mon then, what're you wearing?"

There is a slight pause and then Jones clears his throat in embarrassment.

"_We_," he emphasizes, "were just on the phone with Davidson. The police got in a confrontation with some sort of oversized amphibian. Martha was just wondering if you had seen them before."

Jack winces, because he realizes they're all probably sitting in front of the computer next to the microphone, but also because it means his attempt at phone sex (which was probably going to fail anyway, to be quite honest) is completely doomed.

"Huh," he continues unflaggingly. "What's Martha wearing?"

"Jack!" Martha groans, but he imagines she's pleased nonetheless. "Focus, please."

"Never heard of anything like it before or want to ever again," he answers quickly. "Now if we're talking about that lacy shirt you wore the other da-"

"Alright, that's enough," Jones interrupts, rather rudely if Jack does say so himself. "He doesn't know anything. We've got it covered."

And then Jones hangs up on him. Bastard.

The meeting is pointless and boring; by the end of it all Jack is making a list of all the ways Frobisher can look disapproving and irritated at the same time. He doesn't manage to increase Torchwood's budget and the weather is horrible, and so he returns to Wales in an ill temper, cursing manipulative bureaucrats under his breath for pretty much the full three and a half hours.

He gets back to the Hub around one in the morning, throws his coat and bag on the desk, and immediately heads down to his room to get some sleep only to find that his bed is already occupied.

Jones is tucked neatly under his duvet, chest rising and falling peacefully- he looks more peaceful than Jack has ever seen him actually.

Jack raises his eyebrows, but can't help the surge of fondness that spreads through him as he runs his eyes over Jones' sleeping form thoughtfully. There are few things he likes more than the sight of a naked young thing in his bed after a long, frustrating day.

...Well, not naked-Jones' undershirt clad shoulder peaks over the top of the covers-but he can dream, right?

Jack approaches carefully and reaches out to shake his shoulder, trying to keep as far out of Jones' reach as possible, because he's been around Jones long enough to be rightfully wary of how he gets when he's woken up.

Predictably, Jones jerks awake, flailing almost comically into a seated position before noticing Jack.

"Oh," he says, going still. "Harkness."

"You're in my bed," Jack says with amusement that doesn't quite cover the lust thrumming through his veins like fire.

Jones rubs his eyes and sags against the headboard. "Someone had to watch the Hub while you were in London," he replies and yawns.

His short hair is adorably ruffled and Jack resists the urge to grab a fistful of it and just _pull_.

"And you decided that sleeping in my bed was the best way to do it," he finishes, sticking his hands in his pockets and scrutinizing the long line of Jones' body under his sheets deliberately.

Jones stiffens and sits up straight. "I have to sleep sometime," he replies defensively, as if Jack is accusing him of unprofessional behavior. "And you weren't exactly using it."

"How did it work out with the giant frogs, then?" Jack inquires casually, flopping down on the foot of the bed to remove his shoes.

"Oversized amphibian," Jones corrects, watching him warily. "And it's sorted. It's all in the report. Which is on your desk."

"I'll read it in the morning," Jack says, waving a hand aside flippantly.

He eyes Jones greedily and slides across the duvet to settle slightly to the side of Jones, his hip warming Jack's even through five layers of cloth.

"So," Jack says, low and interested, reaching over Jones' body to bracing himself with his left hand and getting deep into his personal space. "Since you're here..."

Jones exhales shortly onto Jack's cheek and loops an arm with deceptive casualness over his shoulder. "Mmm?" he hums in an intrigued sort of tone, but his eyes and the way he holds himself betray the guardedness that's really behind it all.

He's always like this, Jones is. There's always a certain circumspection about him when Jack is just close enough to kiss, to feel, but isn't yet. Jones always gets this look on his face, as if he's not sure whether Jack is going to attack him or not.

Jack knows better than anyone what Torchwood can do to a person's psyche, but some of Jones' behavior skirts the line between vigilance and effects of severe trauma a bit too closely for Jack's comfort.

He would be less assertive, more gentle and tender with him, but that only seems to piss Jones off.

_"I have no idea what to do with you..." _Jack thinks affectionately, and pushes the duvet down to the top of Jones' thighs, revealing the hem of his undershirt, the top of his shorts, and a delicious line of exposed skin in-between.

"Uh _huh_," Jack says interestedly, drawing his hands come up to smooth down the flat planes of Jones' chest and letting them fall to rub small circles on Jones' hips. "You're in my bed in your _underwear_, Mr. Jones."

He slips his fingers under their hem and grins as he feels Jones twitch in response.

Jones rolls his eyes. "Considering what other men, women, and alien lifeforms that are no doubt in your bed every other night, I think it's safe to assume that my underwear is the least of your hygienic worries."

Jack blinks as he realizes the implication of the statement, that Jones thinks he-thinks he's-

It's not a completely unreasonable assumption, Jack forces himself to admit as he leans over to bite at the pulse point in Jones' neck and feeling him groan deeply against his cheek. Jack does talk about sex and his previous conquests quite a lot, and he regularly makes fun of relationship categories and the institution of marriage. But he finds that it annoys him that Jones just _assumes_ he's sleeping with other people (or aliens) without any proof whatsoever.

It's not that Jack's particularly fond of monogamy. His parents and the culture he was born in sanctioned monogamy, but it never really caught Jack's fancy. There are so many brilliant life forms out there, and to swear off all of them and commit to only one just seems like a waste. But it's not like Jack's incapable of being sexually faithful if he sees the need. He's been monogamous before he met the Doctor, with lovers who liked that sort of thing, but mostly after he became stranded on Earth. He's been in long term committed relationships, he's been _married_, as primitive as the concept is, because he was in love.

He actually hasn't slept with anyone else since this thing with Jones started, mostly because he hasn't had the time, but maybe a bit because he wanted...there was a point he was trying to...

But it doesn't matter, because Jones clearly doesn't care at all.

"I'm good," Jack grins obscenely as Jones tries and completely fails to remove his waistcoat, fingers fumbling frantically and ultimately, ineffectively against the fabric. "I am really, really good."

Jones pulls his shirttails out and groans as Jack palms him through his shorts, gripping Jack's sides harshly, desperate for skin.

"Hurry up, then," Jones snarls, rolling his eyes and looking unimpressed and impatient.

Jack removes the waistcoat and loses both his shirt and undershirt and Jones strips himself out of his own top. Jack pushes him suddenly against the headboard and straddles his hips.

"C'mon, admit it," Jack pushes, gripping the back of Jones' neck possessively, relishing the feel of the short hairs just below his hairline between his fingers.

Jones raises a challenging eyebrow, but Jack refuses to relent. He jerks Jones' head further backwards, exposing the vulnerable line of his pale throat, and tightens his hand on his neck until Jones' cheeks color in embarrassment and anger. He runs his other hand down Jones' stiff, naked torso to tease the hem of his underwear and leans in, pressing his chest against the strong line of Jones', lips just touching the shell of Jones' ear to whisper. "I'm the best shag you've ever had."

Jones lets out an amused puff of air against Jack's cheek and pulls open Jack's trousers, trying to squirm out of Jack's grip and regain some semblance of control.

"Hardly," he replies coldly and Jack scowls, anger, jealously, and chagrin permeating every inch of him, all at once.

He sinks his teeth into Jones' pulse point and pins him further to the headboard with his chest, both actions a little harder than he would normally in spite. Jones' hands jump defensively to his shoulders, but he lets out a surprisingly loud moan, trembling under Jack's teeth.

"Fuck," he half-whimpers as Jack moves to mark his protuberant collarbones and the sound sends a bolt of lust through Jack's being.

He wraps his arms around Jones' waist and moves downward, teeth scrapping gently on his sternum, and then he shifts to the right to mouth at a nipple.

Jones' gasps-_all for me_, Jack thinks possessively, _mine-_ and tightens his finger on Jack's shoulders, but his body is still stiff and guarded. Jack raises his eyes to watch Jones' face twist and flush with arousal and slides a knee between Jones' thighs.

Jones gives a shocked groan, glancing down at Jack in surprise, but quickly looks away as soon as they make eye contact. He seems almost embarrassed to find Jack watching him and turns his head to the side, bringing up one hand to his face, knuckles brushing lightly against his cheek. Jack kisses his ear and grinds his knee in a little, enjoying the feel of Jones moaning against him. Panting, Jones grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a harsh, messy kiss, grinding against his knee, and Jack has to resist the urge to smirk against his mouth. He's not going to let him get away with saying things like that. He's going to _force_ Jones to admit that he's good, that's he's the _best_, better than...well, all _two_ of the people he's had before. He's going to make him _scream _it, make him sob and tremble with orgasm, will take him until he's begging and keening, make him _his_ if it's the last thing he does.

Maneuvering them backwards, Jack lets a leg fall over the side of his bed and kicks out a box from underneath it. This is actually the first time he's bringing it out, with Jones, because the man's always seemed like the vanilla type. But if he's going to make him scream, he's going to have to be innovative here, even at the risk of triggering Jones' rampant paranoia.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jones says dryly, breaking the kiss to look down at the box.

He doesn't sound all that impressed, or even a tiny bit breathless and Jack scowls.

"Also," Jones continues, giving him an indecipherable look and gesturing at the pair of handcuffs on top of the large pile of sex toys in his box, "if you think you're handcuffing me to the bed, you're severely mistaken."

"Really?" Jack pouts, wrapping his arms tighter around Jones' waist and trying not to groan at the mental image his words present. "Because I think you'd look gorgeous spread out naked on my bed. Wrists trapped helplessly over your head, straining to get off, bitten red mouth the same color as your coc-"

Jones slaps his hand over Jack's mouth before he can finish, cheeks flushed a delightful scarlet.

"Shut up!" he hisses and Jack gives his palm a soft bite, smirking as Jones jerks his hand away with a grunt.

"Why not?" Jack presses, rubbing his hands over Jones' groin. "C'mon, I'll make it good for you."

Jones flushes, but his eyes narrow uncooperatively. "I've found that handcuffs lose their charm after you've been chained up for three weeks straight," he says seriously.

He has a point, Jack admits somewhat disappointedly. After his year long stint as the Master's prisoner, he certainly hasn't been all that into bondage as he once was.

"You're missing out," Jack tells him confidently, although he's quite sure of the opposite. "Now where were we?" He pushes down Jones' shorts without warning and grins wickedly at his startled moan. "Ah, here we are, then."

Jones scowls and kisses Jack furiously, pulling him down to the bed with him, his head barely missing colliding with the headboard.

Jack grinds his hips against Jones' roughly, grabbing his arse with one hand and rummaging around in the box with the other.

Finding what he's looking for, Jack swats Jones' hands away from his trousers and straddles him, pushing his shoulder down to the mattress as Jones tries to follow his mouth.

"Patience," Jack tells him filthily, stroking his hands over Jones' thighs and purposely avoiding his groin.

"Fuck you," Jones snarls, trying to pull Jack back down against him as Jack dances out of reach. "You sodding...is that a _vibrator_?" he asks, looking horrified.

Jack grins and brings up the purple toy to run it over Jones' abdomen.

"Yup," he replies triumphantly.

"Oh, God," Jones mutters, but more out of embarrassment than dread by the way he brings up his arm to cover his face.

Well, that won't do, Jack thinks and sucks the tip into his mouth.

Jones' eyes widen and he freezes, letting out a strangled noise, face, neck, and even the top of his chest going a deep red.

"Mmmm," Jack hums around it as Jones opens and closes his mouth several times, lost for words.

"You...that," Jones gapes, looking suddenly very young and naïve. "I don't see how that does anything for _you_."

Jack grins wickedly and thinks of Jones squirming beneath him, breathless and moaning, begging for touch and skin and _him_, all loose, wild and wanton.

"You have _no_ idea," he tells him promisingly, and flicks on the switch.

"_Now _will you admit I'm good?" Jack manages to get out a little while later, rolling onto his stomach to get a better view of Jones' panting.

His chest is rising and falling quite rapidly, pale skin flush with the aftereffects of his exertions, eyelashes sealed lightly against his cheeks. Jack smiles smugly to himself and reaches out to grasp Jones' chin, turning his face towards his.

"Ngah," Jones groans out and tries to swat his hand away, but misses by a long shot.

Jack slides his palm up the side of Jones' face to curl his fingers in his short, sweat-drenched hair, and hopes that it isn't his imagination that Jones leans into the touch.

"God," Jones near whimpers, still shaking as he drags up the bedclothes to cover himself even though it's probably unbearably hot.

"You can't even talk, can you?" Jack grins, throwing his other arm over Jones' chest to grip at his left bicep. "I am _brilliant_."

Jones' eyes flicker open and then close again, and he stretches back, trapping Jack's hand against his head and the pillow, with an utterly sinful moan that makes Jack want to debauch him all over again. He runs his hand up his arm to clutch at his scarred shoulder, and then down at his chest to flick at a nipple. Jones gasps and trembles, still hypersensitive from the magnitude of his orgasm and Jack leans in and rests his chin on Jones' shoulder to admire the bite marks peppered over his torso and neck like a work of abstract art.

Jones refuses to submit.

"You wish," he breathes heavily, fingers twitching at his sides. "I've still had better."

Now he's just plain lying, Jack thinks, and he's irritated to be sure, but he thinks he's finally figured out what's going on here.

And like most things with Jones, it's all to do with Lisa Hallet.

Jack kisses his shoulder lightly and scoots a little bit closer to nuzzle at his neck, thumbing the two ribs just below his heart. Jones' eyes are halfway open now and he eyes him a bit uncomfortably, but he's still too spent to protest or even stiffen up.

"What was she like, then?" he asks carefully, even though the question has been driving him mad, has been trying to force itself out of his throat for months now.

Jones doesn't say anything for a long while, and Jack eventually comes to the conclusion that he's simply refusing to answer. Jack scowls, removing his arm from his torso, and is about to say something nasty and cruel for ignoring him that he will probably regret later when Jones has _strangled him with his bare hands_, when Jones opens his mouth.

He closes it immediately after and bites his lip, but Jack waits and watches as he slowly works himself up to answering.

"I wasn't even nineteen when I met her," he says finally, staring up at the ceiling and sounding cold and, as usual, horribly restrained, "we started around the same time, but she had her degree, she was three and a half years older... She was working in Scientific Development, but she would come down to Research to pick up files from the archives."

He trails off and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

It seems somehow inadequate for all the buildup, Jack thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut, and just watches Jones breath stiffly, obviously incredibly uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

"I didn't think...I hadn't expected that she would noti-that we-" Jones says slowly, hesitantly almost, as if every word is costing him a great deal.

He stops again and Jack leans his head against his hand, elbow on his pillow, watching him without bothering to disguise his confusion.

"I don't understand you at all," Jones had once said, and as Jack remembers this, he can't help but think that it should be his _own _line. He's never slept with someone so reluctant and wary of intimacy and who _hasn't_ succumbed to his superior (obviously) charm in the slightest. He's over a hundred and seventy years old, has traveled with hundreds of different planets and time-zones, and he's usually pretty good at figuring out people's motivations. He thought he knew Jones in the beginning, but obviously that didn't work out too well and he hasn't had much luck since. Even after months of shagging the man, he still has no idea what's going through his mind, no idea why Jones is even sleeping with him in the first place.

"She was the only genuinely nice person I've ever known," Jones reflects, closing his eyes against his own words. "People may pretend, but there are so very few people in this world who are truly kind. She was...almost naïve, in a way. Lisa could never understand how anyone _couldn't_ be kind. It was...nice, to meet someone so completely unselfish."

He doesn't say anything after that, finality plain in his tone and Jack swallows, considering the true meaning behind his brief words. Words that reveal a self-effacing mindset, most likely brought on because of a childhood that Jack would rather not think about and the meeting of a woman who had probably shocked Jones with her attention and kindness.

Jack doesn't have to know anything about Lisa Hallet to know that she was not as perfect as Jones believes. He's been alive long enough to know that people _aren't_ kind, not completely. People always have their good sides and bad sides, and Jack feels an actual _physical _pain that runs through his chest as he realizes that Jones' standards are so low that he probably isn't able to clearly tell the difference.

Fuck Jones, _Jack_ doesn't know what the hell he's doing here. He doesn't know why he continues something that clearly, clearly cannot end well. After so many dead lovers, after the Doctor, he swore he wouldn't let himself enter into something that could only end in tragedy and it's been his modus operandi for decades now. It's why he ultimately decided not to pursue Gwen or Alex, why he left Estelle, because he was just so _tired_ of getting his heart broken.

Martha would understand, he knows, though it's not like he's planning to tell her what's been going on between him and Jones these past six months. She'd fallen in love with the Doctor, like he had, like Rose had, like so many people before them, and she found the strength to leave before she got in too deep. Jack wants that strength, wants it _now _so he can end this before everything goes to hell.

It should be easy, a no-brainer, considering Jones' complete lack of interest in him and unstable mindframe that arguably rivals Jack's own. Jack can think of at least five reasons off the top of his head why this is all going to go up in flames (and not in the good way,) and yet...And yet, somehow, he can't bring himself to stop this. It's bloody mad-Jones is obviously still in love with the memory of Lisa Hallet and has given no indication of getting over her anytime soon, but the only action Jack takes with this information is to be blindingly jealous.

And it's ridiculous, and petty, and_ stupid _to be jealous of a dead woman. It's completely hypocritical- he always hated it when present lovers displayed jealously of past ones- but knowing this doesn't make it any easier to stop what he feels. He's always had a penchant for the ones that play hard to get, but this is just ridiculous. At least the Doctor seemed to like him (before he went all fixed-point-in-time-and-space-y, anyway) which is more than he can say for Jones.

"You think she'd approve of this?" he asks in a sudden fit of clearly suicidal curiosity. "You know, where you are now. Torchwood Agent and all."

Jones tenses and eyes him coldly for a second.

"No," he replies calmly. "But she'd understand. She always did."

He sits up then, and grabs his shirt and underwear off the floor, obviously displeased enough with Jack's line of questioning to exert the effort to leave. Jack curses softly under his breath and Jones gives him a strange look as he buttons up his posh khaki pants.

"By the way," Jones says casually, the acid burn on his shoulder stretching grotesquely as he leans down to grab his collared shirt, "the rest of the team knows we're shagging now, due to your little stunt over the comm. So, thanks for that."

"Huh," Jack says contemplatively, trying to work out whether he should be pleased or annoyed by this. "Okay."

This is apparently _not_ the response Jones was looking for and he scowls and stalks off, only limping a bit, leaving Jack alone in bed.

Neither Gwen nor Andy treat him any differently the next day, which begs the question if they knew beforehand, but Jack can't say the same for Martha and Mickey. Martha looks a little shocked and keeps glancing between him and Jones worriedly when she thinks Jack isn't looking and he catches Mickey with a disgusted look on his face a couple times. Though, Mickey Smith always looked vaguely disturbed whenever Jack brought up his numerous conquests, so it's probably not due to the fact that it's Jones, or even that they're both men, but more because Mickey can't handle the idea of Jack having sex at all. To be fair, the feeling is mutual, and there's not many people Jack can say that about.

A couple weeks later they have an unfortunate run-in with some bloodthirsty Eknodine who've inhabited the bodies of a group of teenage runaways. The body count is high at the end of the day and both Gwen and Mickey narrowly miss being turned into dust, but in the end, Jack classifies the incident as unfortunate because of Jones' decision to torture the location of the Eknodine's base of operations out of a captured alien.

Jack knows that the host body is dead and that it would most likely be _him_ doing the torturing had Jones not taken the initiative, but it doesn't make the sight of Jones' systematically breaking the fingers of the writhing body of a boy in his early adolescence any easier.

When it's all done with, when the Eknodines are dead and the bodies are neatly packaged and placed in the morgue, Jack ignores Gwen's insistent looks and heads for the bottle of scotch in his office reserved for days like this.

The rest of the team is horrified at Jones' actions and clearly want him to force Jones to fall back in line, but Jack has no idea what to say. Mostly because despite his uneasiness with the entire situation, he can't find fault with Jones' course of action. For his part, Jones does not seem to care what the rest of them think, and is either ignoring or remaining oblivious to the rest of the team's disapproval. Jack's money is on the former.

Halfway through his first glass, Jones comes in with a couple papers.

"What's that?" Jack asks, not making eye-contact.

"My report."

Jack glances up and takes the paper, laying it down on a pile of papers which in theory is supposed to be his inbox and in reality is just a jumbled mess. Jones twitches.

"For what?" he asks, examining the unfamiliar formatting without really reading it.

"It's regulation that I file a report after an interrogation in which the use of physical intimidation was implemented," Jones explains in his _you should know this_ voice. "Agents are required to discuss the context within which interrogation was used, his or her motivations, the subjects response, the technique used, and the ultimate-"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Jack says hurriedly, cutting him off. In the span of a few seconds, the report before him becomes the thing he least wants to read out of all of the papers on his desk.

Jones looks faintly resigned, but doesn't comment and turns to leave.

"Is this..." Jack says slowly staring at the immaculate bold letters of the report's title before him, "is this what Torchwood One taught you to do?"

"Write reports?" Jones asks, turning back at the door.

"No," Jack replies, annoyed because he is more than aware that Jones knows exactly what he's talking about. "Did they teach you the capacity for that kind of cruelty?"

Jones lets out an unamused snort. "Torchwood One taught me interrogation techniques and drills and protocol, if that's what you're asking," he replies.

"It's not," Jack says harshly, in this moment more disgusted with himself for _not_ being more repulsed by Jones' grey morality than anything else.

Jones doesn't say anything for a few seconds, but he makes no move to leave the room either. Jack refuses to look at him, glaring at the wood grain pattern on the lip of his desk instead.

"Everything I learned about cruelty," Jones says eventually, _slowly_. "I learned from my father."

Jack glances up at him quickly, taking in the hard, cold line of his mouth.

"Did he hit you?" Jack asks, trying to swallow back the _fury_ he finds welling up in his throat and feeling stupid because he knows the answer already.

Jones laughs. "Oh, Jack," he says, in that annoying, patronizing sort of voice that makes Jack feel like a particularly dim child. "'Did he hit me?' Don't be so _naïve._"

* * *

><p>Mickey Smith likes his job. It's a pretty surprising revelation, actually. One, because, well, he's working under <em>Captain Jack Harkness,<em> and he wasn't sure how well that was going to go over when he started. Mickey's been used to running his own show these past few years, and he's found he's had trouble following orders ever since. Two, because he never fully trusted Torchwood, in this world or in the alternate one. But it turns out that after Torchwood One fell to the dimension-tearing Sycorax, Jack was left in charge, and Mickey knows that he can trust that Jack won't do anything anything completely crazy, despite his awful fashion sense. He trusts Jack, not the bureaucratic Torchwood that Rose threw herself into after the Doctor left, and-

Rose. Rose and Jackie. He tries not to think about them, because he knows he'll never see them again. Never, ever, ever.

But, all in all, Mickey likes his job. It's not nearly as boring as he thought it would be (Rift or not, it was still _Cardiff_, he thought, surely they didn't have alien invasions _every_ week. Except they did) and the pay is good. Jack's matured, it seems, and he's actually a shockingly good leader for however long he's been doing this. Gwen's nice enough, and Andy's an extremely funny bloke once you get used to his odd sense of humor. Jones is a bit of a psychotic creep for someone who just turned twenty-six, but Mickey's seen worse soldiers, twisted by months of fending off an inhuman enemy that does not tire and does not _stop_, so as long as Jones doesn't go postal on them, Mickey can deal. And Martha...

Well, to tell the truth, Mickey rather fancies Martha. It's ridiculous and stupid because she's a fully-qualified doctor whose last job was working for UNIT, and despite all his accomplishments, Mickey still feels like a chav. Also, from something Jack said, he's pretty sure that she just broke it off with her fiance.

So his timing's all wrong, _she's_ probably much too good for him, and she has a tendency to flirt with Jack anyway. Mickey never thought he ever would be so jealous of Jack before. Except that is a horrible lie.

Sometimes, Mickey wonders what his life would be like if he never met the Doctor. He'd love to think that the man who changed everything changed it for good, but he's not as sure as he'd like. He's glad that he knows what's really out there in the world now, glad that he isn't one of the billions of people blind to the truth, glad that he got to spend those two extra years with Gran, glad he got to meet Jake and even Ricky, but he can't help think that he'd be _happier_ if Rose had never stumbled across the Doctor all those years ago. He thinks she'd probably be happier too, and Martha as well. Obviously Mickey was never in _love_ with the Doctor, but he can't help but empathize with Sarah Jane Smith's disappointment at normal life. And he only spent a few weeks with the Doctor. He can't imagine how it must be for Rose, Martha, or even Jack.

He can't talk to any of his old friends anymore. There's no way they can get what it's like, can get how things change when you time and space travel with a Time Lord, when you spend two years fighting homicidal robots, and when you save all of reality from Daleks. Mickey has changed, changed _so _much over the past few years and he no longer has anything in common with his school mates and friends from his old job. His plans for the future no longer includes settling down, marrying a nice girl, and starting up his own shop.

But unlike Sarah Jane Smith, Mickey is not trying to live a mediocre, _normal_, life after the Doctor. He has Torchwood, he has Gwen's kindness, Jones' marksmanship to compete against, Jack's horrible puns, Andy's wry sense of humor, and best of all, Martha Jones' smiles.

Yes, Mickey Smith likes his job.

But sometimes it can get complicated.

Finding out your boss is not only immortal, but is over _a hundred seventy years old_ is one of those times.

The worst part about it is that nobody even thought to _tell_ him. They just all assumed he knew. Even Andy, who only works at Torchwood part-time, knew. It also doesn't help that Mickey finds out in one of the most traumatizing ways possible.

It's a pretty routine Weevil hunt. They don't bother to call Andy and split up as soon as they get out of the SUV. Mickey with Gwen, Martha with Jones (unfortunately,) and Jack by himself. They run around a bunch of warehouses by the Bay in vain and then Jones' voice comes tinny over the comm link to tell them that he and Martha have subdued the Weevil.

"Finally!" Mickey hisses, shivering even though it's only early September. "I'm never letting you near the computer again, do you hear me, Jack! Just by the docks, my _arse_."

He regrets it almost instantly, wincing as he braces himself for some awful remark, but it never comes.

"Harkness?" Jones asks over the comm.

Nothing.

"Jack?" Martha says next. "Are you there?"

"Jack?" Gwen says behind him, looking worried.

Still no answer.

"He went this way, I think," Martha says. "I saw him go around these crates and-Shit!"

"What?" Gwen asks frantically, voice rising with every word. "What's happened?"

She doesn't reply.

"Fuck," Mickey whispers. "Which way do you think they are?"

"I dunno," Gwen says worriedly, looking around the dark street. "Maybe this way?"

They run westward down the street away from the Bay, Gwen trying to getting into touch with Jones and Martha all the way. Just by chance he sees something move out of the corner of his eye, and he motions to Gwen to follow him as he approaches the dark parking lot cautiously, barely visible by a waning streetlight.

"Anyone there?" Mickey says loudly, raising his gun cautiously and seeing Gwen do the same.

"Over here!" Martha calls from the back corner of the lot, and Gwen and Mickey run past a parked lorry to see Martha crouched over Jack's prone body, Jones standing beside her.

"Oh, God," Mickey gasps as they get closer and he processes the sight of Jack's ripped open lower abdomen. "Jack..."

He hears Gwen wretch next to him and he watches in shock as Martha pulls out more gauze out of her bag to replace the blood-soaked ones on Jack's stomach. Mickey's seen enough of war to know that there is no way Jack is coming out of this alive, and he gasps for breath, putting his hand on the dumpster next to the wall to steady himself. Jack's dying, right here, right now, in some stupid Tesco's parking lot in bloody _Cardiff_ and there's nothing he can do about it...

Jack's eyes snap open and he lets out a strangled cry as Martha reapplies the gauze.

"Jack, Jack, I've got you!" Martha says reassuringly, but the strained look on her face is a much better indicator of the situation than her words.

Jack writhes on the pavement, letting out a scream as Martha tries to apply pressure to his wound, gasping for breath.

"Martha!" Jones says abruptly.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," she says, appearing the verge of tears. "I just-I can't-Jack-"

Jack's next cries resonate throughout his entire body and Mickey's knees buckle dangerously, bile rising in his throat. Oh, God, he doesn't want to watch him die, he never wants to watch anyone die again...

He hears the gun cock and instinctively stiffens up, turning towards the sound just in time to see Jones shoot Jack right in-between the eyes.

Martha lets out a gasp as Jack's body sags lifeless to the ground, but all Mickey can do is look helplessly between Jack and Jones.

"What," he gasps, horror spreading like ice through his vein. "What the fuck-"

"Did _you_ want to listen to him scream?" Jones says, pale but _irritable_, and holsters his gun.

"Was that really necessary?" Gwen says weakly.

"You-what?" Mickey gapes and then rage takes over.

He shoves Jones against the walls of the building next to the lot, red bleeding into his vision.

"You son of a bitch, you fucking-" He's so angry he can barely speak. "You killed-"

"Mickey, wait-"

"Smith," Jones hisses, struggling. "What's your problem?"

"'What's my problem?'" he shouts. "You just fucking killed-"

"Mickey, Mickey, it's all right," Martha is saying and then two pairs of hands are pulling him away from a confused-looking Jones.

"You don't _know_?" Jack's murderer asks, looking shocked.

"Know...what?" Mickey manages to bite out, still struggling against Gwen and Martha's grip.

"Mickey," Martha says soothingly. "Mickey, it's alright. Jack's...Jack's..."

"Jack's immortal," Gwen says bluntly, pulling him back further away from Jones.

It doesn't sink in for a few seconds, and Mickey snarls something incoherent at Jones, still pressed up against the brick wall, before going slack.

"What?" he gapes, whirling around to look at Gwen and Martha. "What the _hell_-"

"Jack's immortal," Martha assuages. "Just calm down and wait."

"_Immortal_," he repeats, not because he doesn't buy the concept, but rather because Jack's _dead body is lying right in front of them_. "But he's..."

"He comes back," Jones says, pushing himself off the wall. "I-you knew Jack before, so...Sorry, I thought you knew."

If the situation wasn't so mad, Mickey would've reflected on the strangeness that was Jones apologizing, but as it is he can only gulp in huge amounts of air and try not to fall over.

"So," he clarifies after a few seconds of awkward silence only broken by the sound of automobiles passing in the distance. "So, he's not dead?"

"Well, he's dead _now_," Gwen says, trying to be nice, but being all too flippant about the situation for Mickey's taste. "But, just give it a couple minutes and you know, he," She makes an exaggerated gasping sound, clutching her throat. "comes back."

"R-Right," Mickey says, still not completely convinced.

Jones goes towards Jack's body and drops to his knees by his head, looking over him carefully in a way that makes Mickey want to be sick for him.

Without warning, Jack jerks up with a gasp, and Jones grabs him, holding him steady.

"Bloody _hell_," Mickey whispers as he watches Jack shudder against Jones' grip.

"Thanks," Jack whispers and it takes Mickey a couple seconds to realize that he's talking to _Jones_. Thanking him for, you know, _shooting him._

"Can't exactly say it was my pleasure..." Jones mutters, and Jack closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against Jones' chest, breathing deeply.

After a few minutes, Jack catches his breath and gets to his feet, looking disgusted at the blood on his hands and his clothes.

"Sorry," he says ruefully, _alive_. "I thought you knew."

_"You forgot me_," Mickey thinks somewhat resentfully, but merely nods, still a tad shell-shocked.

"Are you an alien, then?" he asks after they've all piled into the SUV a little while later, the Weevil twitching in the back.

Jack's mouth twitches. "No."

"Were you born like this, or..."

"Accident," Jack says shortly, clearly uncomfortable discussing the details. "Happened while I was traveling with the Doctor."

_"I'll bet it did_," Mickey thinks.

"So when I first met you..." he asks back at the Hub after shoving the Weevil into an empty cell and his head clears. "Were you...you know..."

He makes a vague hand-motion which he hopes clearly conveys the concept of immortality.

"No," Jack replies tiredly. "I was still human."

Both Jones' and Gwen's head swivel in his direction, staring at Mickey with wide eyes.

"I'll be in my office," Jack announces somewhat unnecessarily and heads up the stairs.

Mickey watches him go, idly wondering how much weirder this job can get.

"Well, I'm off, the..." he says, turning towards the door to go home and hopefully sort this mess out in his head before work tomorrow, but Jones and Gwen are still frozen, staring at him.

"I don't think so," Gwen says, and pulls out Mickey's chair. "Sit."

He does, mostly out of surprise, and Gwen comes and sits down too, Jones coming to lean up against her desk, both of them looking intent.

"_You_ knew Jack before he was immortal," Jones clarifies slowly. "While he was traveling with the Doctor."

"Er...yeah," Mickey replies, wondering what the big deal is. "I mean, I was Rose's bo...friend and I met Jack when they came back to Earth to-You know who Rose is?"

They both shake their heads.

"Well, she was another companion who traveled with 'im. The Doctor, that is."

"Harkness said you traveled with the Doctor," Jones says.

"Oh, yeah, but only for a little while," Mickey tells them. "And that was after Jack was gone. I always wondered what happened to him, but I always figured he got bored and went off to do something else. I guess that was Torchwood."

Jones lets out an unamused snort. "Not exactly."

Gwen winces. "Well, in a roundabout way, I suppose."

"What?"

"Jack's pretty old now," Gwen explains cautiously. "He got stuck in the past and he had to live through the entire 20th century, at least."

"I think the year was 1869," Martha adds.

She's been standing behind a little ways away, clearly not as intrigued by the conversation as Gwen and Jones are (much to his disappointment,) but still slightly interested.

"So that would make him..." Mickey says, doing the math in his head. "Bloody hell."

"Exactly," Gwen says apologetically. "I'm really sorry, it's just...you already knew him, and this is the first time we've met someone who's known him _before_. We thought you knew."

"No wonder he was so different," Mickey murmurs, thinking back to how Jack had surprised him with his ability to be so _serious_ and authoritative when he first started at Torchwood. He's surprised Jack even _remembered_ him, come to think of it. It had been four years since Mickey had met Jack, but from Jack's point of view it was more like _a hundred and forty_.

"Well?" Jones says impatiently, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"Well, what?"

"What was he like?" Jones bites out, looking irritated that he has to spell it out.

"Er...you know," Mickey prevaricates, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to buy himself more time. "He was a lot less, I dunno, intense? Pretty cheesy, made even worse jokes. I knew he was a time traveler right off because he didn't know anything about the 21st century."

"Even _worse_ jokes?" Jones repeats, making a face.

"Oh, dear," Gwen mutters, but she's smiling, almost sadly.

"I really only met him the once," he says awkwardly.

Jones nods shortly. He grabs his coat and mutters a farewell to Gwen before walking down the stairs and out through the cog door. Mickey watches him go and wonders for the billionth time why Jack would sleep with _him_. And then for the billionth time wonders why he goes there at all.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Martha asks as he walks her to her car. (Because he is a _gentleman_. Clearly.)

"I just...I just have to get used to the idea, I think," he replies dazedly, touched by her concern.

"I know what you mean," Martha says sympathetically, which wasn't really the reaction he was going for, but okay, he can work with that. "I found out much the same way."

Mickey raises an eyebrow. "You mean Jones shoots Jack on a regular basis?"

"Er, no," Martha says with an awkward laugh. "No, he died in front of me. Twice, in order for the message to sink in properly. I'm pretty sure that's how everyone finds out actually."

"He never just _tells_ anyone?" Mickey says in annoyance, thinking that knowing beforehand would've certainly been better for his heart.

"Would you?" Martha asks skeptically and suddenly, right there in the parking lot, Mickey realizes that Jack, stupid, cheesy Captain Jack is nearly _seven times his ages_.

"Bugger," he mutters and Martha gives him a strange look.

But then, fortunately (or, you know, _not_,) they get attacked by the employees of Torchwood Four, who supposedly disappeared off the face of the Earth back in the '70s with their entire headquarters. In actuality, they discover that Torchwood Dublin got themselves trapped in an alternate dimension and turned into half-alien psychopaths before Jack notices how enormously creeped out Mickey is by his entire existence. And then they have bigger things to worry about.

Sean Collins, the leader of Torchwood Four, apparently had a bone to pick with Jack _before_ he went all alien and psychotic, and he unfortunately has not had a change of heart during his stint in an alternate realm.

So, it's not a complete surprise to find himself running through a maze in the basement of the rundown building that used to be Torchwood Four's base of operations that, like Cardiff's, is right off the waterfront. When he asked, Jack had said something about sea monsters.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," Mickey mutters under his breath for the hundredth time, even though he knows it's useless. Their headpieces stopped working the second they entered the building, but he hasn't heard from Martha in nearly half an hour since they got separated, or from anyone else.

Mickey curses under his breath and reloads his gun, making the decision to go through the door just to his left and hurrying down the long, dank, sewer-like hallway it leads to despite his sore muscles. He's killed two former staff members already, but they're strong and _angry,_ and he doesn't think he can take getting thrown down another flight of stairs again.

He hears a clatter at the end of the hallway and he freezes in his tracks, heart hammering almost painfully against his breastbone. He inches closer, trigger finger at the ready, until he reaches the end of the hallway and after a brief pause, whirls around the corner to come face to face with Martha.

"Jesus Christ, Mickey!" she gasps, loosening her grip on her gun and clutching at her chest. "I thought it was another one of those thi...I mean, the staff."

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking over her carefully. There's a large, nasty-looking bruise forming on the right side of her face and she's holding herself gingerly, but other than that she appears unharmed.

"I'm fine," she says, dismissively. "Have you heard from the others?"

"Not a word," he replies, looking around the distressingly similar hallway to the one he just came from. "What happened to the bloke that attacked you?"

She flinches. "He's...I crushed him with some crates in the warehouse two flights up," she says, gritting her teeth tightly and avoiding his eyes.

Martha doesn't look particularly happy about it, which Mickey gets, considering that she's a doctor. "You okay?" he questions.

She smiles humorlessly. "It's okay," she tells him gently. "I've been through worse."

"With the Doctor?" Mickey asks incredulously. "I had my fair share of danger traveling with the Doctor, but it hardly measures up to-"

"I spent a year in an alternate, post-apocalyptic future where humans were systematically butchered and tortured at the whim of an insane Time Lord," Martha says.

Mickey closes his mouth.

"Oh," he says after an incredibly awkward pause. "That would do it."

Martha winces. "I'm sor...I don't know why I said that," she admits, seemingly ashamed of her own outburst.

"Oh, no," Mickey says faintly, vaguely wondering when he'll find out that Andy is secretly an alien criminal mastermind and Gwen is a witch.

"I just-" she starts and then stops, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply. "We really should figure out where Jack and everyone else is."

"Probably," Mickey agrees and focuses on making himself look as less stupid and insensitive as possible.

"How many people worked 'ere?" he asks, looking back and forth between another two wings of this fucking ridiculous building. And he thought Torchwood Three was easy to get lost in.

"Eight, I think," Martha replies quickly.

"I killed two," Mickey counts. "You got one, Gwen and Jones killed that one right off, so..."

"If we're lucky, there's only four left," Martha finishes, and takes a deep breath. "Look, I searched the upper two floors and there's no one there, so they have to be even further down."

"You know where the stairs are?" Mickey asks hopefully.

"This way," she replies, jerking her thumb in the direction of one of the wings, and he follows her down the cold, narrow hallway to a stairwell that leads to yet another sub-level, resisting the urge to close his fingers around her delicate wrist bones, pull her back, and stroke her hair out of her face- to _make _it alright.

* * *

><p>"You-when did you-" the half-alien, half-woman gasps, choking on her own blood. "You son of a..."<p>

She trails off and goes limp, eyes glazing over, and Ianto Jones breathes a heavy sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall. He tries not to look at her deformed, reddish brown, clawed arm and double-pupiled right eye that's leaking purple blood.

_"Three down_," Ianto thinks. "_And x to go."_

Ianto checks his cartridge and holsters his last gun. He steps over the monstrous woman's body and heads for the doorway he saw Gwen go through ten minutes earlier. He would've followed her sooner, but he got side-tracked by vengeful aliens.

The door leads to yet another hallway, but there's a hole in the wall at the end of the hallway and he hears voices on the other end. Fuck.

Moving quickly, Ianto redraws his firearm, vaulting through the hole into a large, empty room, the kind Torchwood One used to store all the unidentifiable, off-world or temporally anachronistic tech. Gwen is in the center, holding Jack's dead body protectively to her chest, despite the fact that she'd probably be better off using him as a shield. Two of the Torchwood Four staff are standing only several meters in front of her and they both whirl around the second his feet make contact with the concrete floor.

"Don't move," Ianto says calmly, staying far enough away to keep them both in his sights.

"Another one?" Sean Collins-Ianto knows him from his picture-sighs. "You lot are like _rats_."

One of his legs is blue and _molting, _slightly larger than the other, giving him an almost comic, lopsided look and there appears to be a horn of some sort growing out of his left ear. The man beside him, Something Healy, has disfigured-looking wings poking out of his back and long fanged teeth that can't make it easy to talk.

"I could say the same to you," Ianto replies, trying to judge whether Healy's wings actually allow him to fly. "Stand down."

"Jones," Gwen whispers raggedly. She has a nasty head injury, one of her arms is bent at a strange angle, and she looks concussed. He doesn't see a gun on her.

"Get out," he tells her, eyeing Jack's slit throat angrily before turning his attention back to Collins and Healy.

She tries to drag herself and Jack backwards, but Collins smiles deviously and says. "Not so fast. Kieran."

Healy lets out an inhuman snarl and launches himself at Ianto. Ianto rolls past him just in the nick of time-_fuck_, he's fast- and jumps to his feet, placing himself between Gwen and Jack and the two shadows of Sean Collins and Kieran Healy.

"Not another move," Ianto threatens, waving at Gwen to get out, _now_.

Healy growls in anger, spittle flying out of his mouth, obviously no longer having the capacity for speech.

"Oh, please," Collins mocks, rolling his red, glittering eyes. "I'm not stupid, you know. There's a reason you haven't fired yet. And that's because there are_ no more bullets left in that gun_."

Ianto freezes, jaw tightening in shock. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before letting the gun slip out of his hands and clatter to the floor.

"Fine," he says a little hoarsely, letting his arms fall to his sides,"Alright."

"Now move out of the way," Collins orders. "I still have a score to settle with your meddling Captain."

"Harkness' dead," Ianto says quietly hoping against hope.

It doesn't work.

"I'm not _stupid_, you know," Collins says. "I know all about Jack Harkness' very _special_ abilities. Out of the way."

"No."

Gwen makes a soft, startled sound behind him.

"So irrational, you idiotic humans," Collins sighs. "Everything is so clear now, how you're all so blindingly stu-" He pauses, face twisting in disgust. "Oh, no, you're not- There always were rumours about Harkness' proclivities. Please don't tell me it's something as cliché as you're _in love_ with him or some rubbish like th-"

"Yeah," Ianto breathes with a humorless little laugh, unable to stop himself. "Yeah, something like that."

"Disgusting," Collins growls. "Kieran!"

The fanged man leaps toward him with inhuman speed and before Ianto can even blink, he's landed an upper cut right in the guts. Ianto falls to his knees, gasping for breath, and makes a half-hearted attempt at a right hook before Healy backhands him so hard he sees stars. Ianto's head hits the floor and he barely has time to shout in pain when Healy kicks him hard in the stomach.

Gwen is saying something, but he can't make any sense of it, clutching at his gut. He forces himself off the floor, determined to not go out without a fight, just in time to see Martha bursting into the room, guns blazing, and then Mickey behind her. Healy and Collins fall to their bullets and Ianto pushes himself up onto one knee, glancing behind him at Gwen to see Jack awake and staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

They call UNIT to deal with the cleanup and within eight hours they're all packed on a plane back to Cardiff, and Ianto feigns sleep to avoid the inevitable confrontation with Jack.

Andy picks them up at the airport and they drive back to base in near silence, everyone too tired to work up the energy to start a conversation. They drop a groggy Gwen off on the way, and then Ianto, Mickey, Martha Andy, and Jack sit in the conference room, drinking a ridiculous amount of coffee and filling out the necessary paperwork.

They finish up at about two in the morning, and after everyone else has left, Ianto is down in the archives trying to figure out if his report should go into "International Incidents" or "Interdepartmental Incidents" when Jack sweeps into the room, shutting the door behind him with an almost inaudible click.

"We need to talk," Jack says.

Despite the seriousness of situation, Ianto rolls his eyes at Jack's theatrics.

"About what?" he mutters, glancing up for the first time, even though he knows perfectly well.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Jack asks flatly, looking angry and uncomfortable at the same time.

"What was what?" Ianto replies, closing the file drawer and turning to look at him, look at his stiff posture and wary eyes and _knowing_, knowing beyond any doubt that whatever was between them is over.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Jack seethes, throwing him an irritable look. "You were being stupid, _as usual_, Collins was going on about...he said, and you said...you said that you..."

He can't even say it, Ianto thinks, somewhat pitiably. A hundred and fifty plus years and he can't even say the word 'love.'

"I mean, you don't..." Jack continues helplessly. "You don't actually...you know...he said that you _loved_ me and that's...but you, you don't, right?"

Ianto doesn't say anything, just _looks_ at him and watches as Jack's eyes widen and his mouth drops open a bit.

"That's...you've got to be kidding me," Jack gapes. "No way, you're...But I would've noti-You never said anythin-"

"Oh, because that would've been such a _spectacular_ idea," Ianto says sarcastically, unable to keep silent any longer.

Jack looks thrown for a few seconds and then his mouth morphs into a scowl. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Ianto sighs and lays his report on top of the nearest file cabinet. He'll deal with it later.

"I may love you, Jack Harkness," he says in a slow, sedate tone. "But I'm not_ stupid_."

Jack doesn't seem to understand, just stands there, staring at him wordlessly and before anything melodramatic forces its way out of Ianto's mouth, he leaves the room, dignity still intact.

It's shocking easy to go home then. He always had imagined that it'd be hard, when it was all over. He hadn't had any doubts that he would be able to do it, to walk away, but he's surprised by how _good_ it feels.

Ianto has to admit he hadn't thought it would end this way. He's always thought he would die, or Jack would get bored of him and move on. He prefers this state of affairs, to be honest. He doesn't feel humiliated or embarrassed by the way things went. He still has his pride, can still leave the base with his head held high. Ianto knows he should be angry with himself for letting the words slip out, for ruining everything sooner than he had to, but somehow, he's not. He's still not exactly sure why he said it-he'd never particularly felt the need to confess before- but all he feels is _relieved _that it's done and over with.

There's no more waiting now, no more worrying about being restrained, unobtrusive, _contained_. No more pretending not to care and caring all too much or squirming uncomfortably under Jack's scrutiny. He can slide back into the periphery again, where it's safe and inconspicuous, and go about his regular business.

It will be awkward at first, he knows. Jack will obviously not want to see him outside of work and will be extremely uncomfortable around him for a while, but that too shall pass. Assuming he stays alive long enough, of course (and even if he doesn't, it's not like anything will _matter_ then.) Eventually, Jack will forget; will meet someone new of interest, will go off gallivanting with the Doctor again, or possibly even get distracted by a new flavor of biscuits, Ianto can never tell. But he can do it. He survived his father, a failed attempt at university, and Lisa's death. He can deal with a little awkwardness from Jack Harkness. All he has to do is screw his courage and _make_ it work, just like he's had to do so many times before.

Because in the end, there was never really anything between him and Jack. Nothing real, anyway. There was just sex, no affection or trust or probably even respect. Ianto knew that entering into the whole affair and he hadn't expected it to change. He had always known what it was going to be and what it wasn't.

It was completely different than his relationship with Lisa had been. Ianto was a month from turning nineteen when he'd met her for the first time, sometime during his first week working for Torchwood. He'd been disappointed and angry with the world, still feeling the shock of discovering, well, _aliens. _He was a university dropout with mediocre grades and the only thing he had going for him was a recommendation from a professor and his work ethic. He didn't know anyone in London, his flat was an abomination, and his colleagues were all people at least fifteen years older than him who seemed to find his accent amusing. But he didn't have a choice, so he gritted his teeth and got through the first hectic week, and then he'd met _her_.

(Later, he got to know his colleagues better and became quite close to them, despite their differences in age. But none of them talked to him after Lisa died and now...well, they're all dead now.)

Ianto remembered being surprised when he saw her for the first time because she was the only person he'd seen who was even vaguely close to his age. She was new too and, according the rest of the department, the only person from Development who wasn't an arrogant sod. She came down to pick up files about every other day and everyone liked Lisa. She was one of the few people who felt no self-consciousness at striking up a conversation with random strangers and always remembered to ask after the spouses and kids of the people in Ianto's department. He'd admired her at first, her ability to finish uni, her confidence, the way she was able to converse so easily with anyone when Ianto had always been awkward and shy meeting new people.

It's kind of embarrassing, but Ianto's pretty sure he started fancying her even before they had a conversation. It happened sometime during his first couple months working at Torchwood, though there wasn't a singular moment that he became aware of his attraction. He'd always liked when she came in, seeing her greet his colleagues and tell stories about the newest calamity that had struck at the heart of her supervisor's fashion sense. He remembers bending over his work to hide his smile as he listened to her talk and how things always seemed brighter after her visits.

But he'd never thought for a second to try and talk to her, because it wasn't like she'd ever be interested, right?

The first time they'd actually talked was nearly four months after he started. He'd been asked to get some files for her, and Lisa had followed him out into the long, sprawling halls of the archives, asking him how working at Torchwood was going, what he thought about aliens, and if he had ever seen one in real life. He'd been a bit taken aback, but answered politely, and she'd been appalled when he called her "miss."

After that she'd take time to come over and talk to him whenever she came to pick things up. It was nice talking to her, and she got his rather dark sense of humor, which most people didn't. He liked her unwavering optimism, liked making her laugh, liked that she never asked if his father was a coal-miner or made trite jokes about sheep.

They spent the entire Christmas party rolling their eyes at the drunken antics of their co-workers and when he walked her home, she'd asked him if he'd like to do something on Boxing Day.

In retrospect, it's obvious that it was a date, but at the time he honestly had no idea. There were a lot of reasons for that, partly her position, partly her age, partly his own desire to refuse to get his hopes up, but her race was a factor as well. Things are different now, but Ianto didn't know anyone who was was the child or grandchild of immigrants until he was in uni. He grew up in an all-white neighborhood and even in uni he'd never known an interracial couple. It was hardly that he thought Lisa was racist, but he just assumed she wouldn't be interested.

So, it wasn't until the third time they went out to lunch on their break that she rolled her eyes and kissed him right in the middle of the stairwell on their way back to work.

He'd been shocked, but being with Lisa was the easiest, most natural thing he'd ever done. He could be himself around her without feeling self-conscious or stupid, and he felt like she'd brought out the best in him. At first he'd tried not to cling-that was how his relationship with Megan had fallen apart- tried not to intrude on her the things in her life that didn't concern him. He was a jealous person by nature, but he knew as long as he didn't let it take over he'd be fine. But he couldn't exactly repress the surge of triumph when Lisa had frowned one day over lunch and said that she thought they should spend more time together.

They'd moved in together after about seven months, celebrated his twentieth birthday together, and went to visit Rhiannon over the Christmas holidays. He hadn't...he wasn't really thinking about marriage-they were so young and it was _way_ too soon, but he'd thought...he'd thought if things worked out that maybe...

But while he might've been in love with Jack, he knew what the difference was between what he and Lisa had and the casual fling with his boss. If he'd met Jack earlier in his life he might've not been able to tell, but that's neither here nor there. Trust is what a relationship is built upon and he and Jack don't have it at all. Sure, Ianto trusts Jack with his life, but he doesn't really trust him with anything else, least of all his heart. He hadn't been lying when he told Jack that it had been better with Lisa. Alright, Ianto said it mostly to make him mad, a bit passive-aggressive to be sure, but ultimately it is the truth. Jack might have a whole lot more sexual experience than he and Lisa had, but without any sort of connection, without intimacy or, however cliché it is, _love_, how could it compare?

He felt like he could tell Lisa anything- she was the only one he'd ever told what his childhood had been like, stuff he hadn't even told Rhiannon, confessions which resulted in an embarrassing episode that ended with them both in tears.

But Jack is immortal, he is over a hundred and fifty fucking years old. He'd fought in wars Ianto's grandparents hadn't even been old enough to remember, lived in the far future and the far past, seen things Ianto could never even dream of and things he doesn't want to, and died hundreds, or maybe even thousands of deaths. If Ianto let him in, showed any vulnerability at all, told him the things he'd told Lisa...oh, Jack would laugh. Because what was Ianto's brief, sad, pathetic life compared to the trials of an immortal man, damned to live until the end of the universe? He was a mere blip in time to Jack, a speck in the eyes of a giant. He couldn't possibly be anything but a child to Jack Harkness so it was pointless to want something real, even if he thought there was the remote possibility that Jack was interested in more than a convenient shag.

He sleeps for a couple hours, and is halfway through getting dressed at five when he realizes Jack gave them the day off after the mess Dublin turned out to be. He can't go back to sleep then, so he ends up training for a couple hours until it's late enough that he can call Rhiannon.

She doesn't ask why-she never does-but shows up at his door around noon with some pretty posh brandy that he's not exactly sure how she got hold of. He drinks a bit, but not too much because he doesn't much feel like getting drunk, and she idly chats on about Johnny's new job and how she hopes it will last at least to the end of the year, about Mica and David who he only knows from photographs, and about one of her annoying coworkers making rude comments about the supposedly messy way Rhiannon folds her fliers.

Finally she pauses and sets her glass down, leaning back in her seat.

"What happened, Ianto?" she asks, breaking the two-siblings-just-meeting-up-for-drinks facade.

He stares at his own fingers on his glass and takes a deep breath, but doesn't answer her.

"You don't have to tell me all the details," Rhiannon says softly. "Just...I need you to give me the gist of things, cos otherwise I can't...Did something happen to one of your colleagues aga-"

"No," Ianto interrupts and then laughs coldly at his own hubris. "God, no. No, it's...Jack. He's an idiot."

It's not the truth, in fact, Ianto's pretty sure that _he's_ the idiot in this case, but it does make him feel a bit better about everything.

"Oh," Rhiannon says quietly. "What-What did he do?"

Ianto shrugs his shoulders. He's aware of the bipolarity of the situation, after all, he did ask Rhiannon over because he needed to talk to someone, but now that's she's asking he desperately doesn't want to speak. How on earth is he supposed to convey his varied, ambivalent feelings about Jack to her? They never talked about this before, he hadn't told her about his sexual relationship with his boss, not even about his sexuality at all, now that he comes to think of-

"You're sleeping with him," she says baldly, a pink flush dusting her pale cheeks. "Aren't you."

Ianto glances up at her in surprise and then looks back down at his hands quickly, feeling the same flush sweep down his face.

"I was," he admits once he works up the courage. "I don't think anymore, though."

"Oh," she says, understanding dawning in her eyes, and then, after an awkward pause. "I'm sorry."

Ianto jerks his shoulders in an abortive shrugging motion. "It wasn't like that," he mutters, still unable to look up at her properly. "We weren't, you know...it wasn't like that."

"But you wanted it to be?" she questions softly.

Ianto forces out a curt nod, fingers drumming nervously on the tabletop.

They sit there quietly for what feels like a long time, Rhiannon idly playing with the end of her scarf and Ianto drumming out a rhythmic tattoo of what was probably the Harwood's Haulage theme song. The radiator behind Rhiannon's chair gives a low hiss, and the noises of the couple a few doors down yelling at each other drift through the walls, coupling with the sounds of laughter from the flat directly above his.

"Are you..." she starts timidly. "You know...Have you gone bender?"

He laughs at the ridiculousness of the statement, but trails off when he sees the hurt look on her face, realizing that she's _not joking_.

"It isn't like that," he explains kindly, remembering that she's seen a lot less of the world than he has. "You don't _go_...you just sort of _are_."

"I don't understand," Rhiannon admits in a small voice, still looking a bit hesitant. "I mean, you've had girlfriends before, so...and now..."

"It's not _men_," Ianto swallows, suddenly realizing that he is _coming out_ to his older sister, and oh _God_, what if she is disgusted by him, what is he going to _do_. "I mean, it's not just...I mean, it's both."

"Both," she repeats slowly. "So you're..."

"Bisexual," he finishes, watching her face carefully for any sign of condemnation.

"Oh!" she says, as if she's just realized something. "Like Duncan James."

"Who?"

"He's on the telly," she explains with a blush. "A singer. Mica really likes his songs and he's...well, he's quite fit."

She smiles at him appealingly, and he blinks at her, nonplussed. Is that supposed to mean something to him?

"How long, I mean, when did you know?" she asks next, the _why didn't you tell me_ unsaid.

"Uni," Ianto replies, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably.

"Right," she murmurs, as if that explains everything.

"Thanks for coming over," he says awkwardly, quickly bringing up the glass to his mouth to hide his embarrassment.

He sees her nod through the distortion of the glass and she pours herself another glass as well.

"Are you in love with him?" she asks suddenly, all shyness gone and he goes very still.

He opens his mouth but chokes on his reply, turning his head away to stare intently out the window.

"Yeah," he says hoarsely, biting his lip to stop himself from saying anything else.

"Oh, Ianto," she says sympathetically. "I-"

"Don't," he grits out, shutting his eyes tightly against her pity for him. "Just...just don't."

She falls silent and after a few seconds he works up to courage to turn back and face her again.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Yeah," he manages, leaning forward over the table to rest his head in his arms."Yeah, me too."

To say that the following day is awkward is possibly the biggest understatement of the century. Ianto spends the entire day overly jumpy with the irrational fear that Jack is going to want to _talk_ about what he said yesterday. He keeps feeling Jack's eyes on him, a disconcerting and uncomfortable position for someone in his line of work, despite his feelings for the man, and has to focus abnormally hard on acting as if nothing has changed. Fortunately, he doesn't have to stew in the suspense and tension his confession engendered for long, though not because either him or Jack make any effort to address the issue. Instead, it is Gwen who detracts both their attentions from yesterday's events.

"Alright," she announces to them all, emerging from the basement for the second time after two private phone calls. "I don't know how to put this exactly, so I'm just going to say it. I wasn't going to say anything yet, but then yesterday happened and I realized that it's important that you know that...Sod it, I'm pregnant."

There is a long pause and then Martha almost trips over herself to congratulate her. Jack looks thunderstruck, Andy looks strangely disturbed, and Ianto wonders why he himself is so surprised. After all, it is the most common step after marriage.

"Gwen, that's..." Jack starts, still rather shocked, eyes dropping down automatically to her stomach. "That's good, isn't it?"

She nods, a little uncertainly, but she's smiling. "It's brilliant," she whispers.

"How long..." Andy interjects, a bit pale.

"A bit over two months," Gwen replies. "I just found out when I went to my doctor's appointment last weekend. I didn't have morning sickness, so I had no idea..."

"Congratulations," Ianto says politely, because that's just what you say.

It's not like he doesn't mean it, as long as Gwen's happy, but the idea of marriage and a baby is just so foreign to him that he finds he really has no clear emotional response.

Jack glances at him as Gwen grins and thanks him and then quickly looks away.

"When are you due?" Martha asks next.

"Beginning of March," Gwen answers and then turns to Jack quickly. "But what about this place, and my job?"

"We'll manage," Jack reassures her, reaching out to grip one of Gwen's hands. "Andy'll probably have to take on a few extra shifts later on, but we'll get on. We always do."

"How did Rhys react?" Mickey wants to know and Ianto turns back to his report on this month's Rift activity.

Things get complicated after that. There is a lot of planning and talking about the baby, Jack and Gwen argue over how much time she should spend in the field, and Martha insists on giving Gwen a thorough checkup even though her only injury the day before was to her head and arm. Then she wants to give everyone else one, an idea that he is supremely uneasy with even though he's pretty sure she's already seen all his scars. Strangely enough, _Mickey_ seems to be even more uncomfortable with this turn of events and immediately gives some rubbish excuse and bails.

Ianto reluctantly lets Martha makes sure he's not about to keel over and die, trying not to wince as she gapes at his medical records and quite obviously tries not to stare at his large collection of scars.

He runs into Jack down in the basement again after escaping Martha's list of dietary restrictions he should follow on account of his failed kidney. It's the first time they've been alone together since Jack cornered him in the archives and Jack stops dead in his tracks the second he sees him. Outwardly, Ianto remains completely calm, even raising a questioning eyebrow at Jack's reaction to him, but inwardly he's cringing at the possibility that Jack will want to continue their conversation.

"Not going to spontaneously combust?" Jack says, trying for witty, but the strain around his mouth doesn't lie.

"Don't even joke about that," Ianto advises him. "She'll be wanting to see you next, by the way. She's been looking through Harper's notes on you lately."

"Right," Jack says concisely, not even making the obligatory "playing doctor" joke.

_"I think you're the bravest, strongest, most amazing person I've ever met," _Ianto suddenly gets the urge to say. "_You inspire me to be a better person, even though I know that's probably not a possibility anymore. You've helped me more than you could possibly ever know. You gave me a purpose, gave me meaning again when I was content to allow my life run its course and let Torchwood kill me. I thought it was all over after Lisa, but you showed me that it's possible to carry on. I didn't think I could fall in love again, because I never, ever, imagined that I'd meet someone like you. You'll never know how grateful I am that I met you, so, Jack, thank you. Thank you for never giving up, thank you for coming back even though you would have preferred to stay with the Doctor. Thank you for caring too goddamn much about all of us, even though in a thousand years time you won't remember our names. And thanks for...well, it was good, yeah? Or maybe it wasn't. But either way, thanks."_

"You need to tell Smith to stop being a baby and let Martha give him a check-up," he says instead, quashing down his strong emotions and straightening up. "We don't have time for this juvenile rubbish."

* * *

><p>"I know, mum," Martha Jones says hoarsely. "Bye."<p>

She ends the call and closes her eyes, leaning wearily against the worn tiled wall of her bathroom.

It's not a nice bathroom. It's a dirty, small, wretched room in her dirty, small, wretched flat. It's the first flat she moved into after coming to Cardiff, even worse than the first place she got right out of uni. She never thought she'd stay more than a month or two, just until she got settled in at Torchwood and found a better place. But of course that hadn't happened. She hadn't had time at first, been so busy becoming acclimated to a new city and working at Torchwood, and now it was over a year later and she was still living here.

She slips her phone back into her pocket and takes a deep breath. Clenching her teeth, she straightens up and exits the room. She goes to the small kitchen and opens the refrigerator, staring apathetically at its contents. Finding nothing appealing, Martha lets the door swing shut and rests her forehead against the freezer door.

It's not that she regrets leaving UNIT. She was a little worried that she might, but Torchwood is better. The Osterhagen Key had only been the final straw; there were plenty of other UNIT projects and procedures that she had not been comfortable with, but had dealt with because of her desperate_ need_ for everything to work out. It is better at Torchwood; she doesn't get that queasy feeling when she has to make a hard call as often and it's nice to work with Jack and Gwen again.

But the emptiness still isn't going _away. _When she moved to Cardiff, it had been mostly about Tom, missing him, missing what they could have had. But now that that was better, another hurt had taken it' place. First it was the Doctor, then it was Tom, and now, _finally, _it is the Tardis. Martha misses the time and space travel, going to new planets, seeing amazing things that she never could have imagined before the Doctor randomly dropped into her life. She spent nearly a year on an extended vacation with an amazing man, and even after she got over him, she still misses the wonder, the excitement, the beauty of all the places he showed her. Torchwood and UNIT helped ease the sudden shock of finding herself back in her old life, like nothing had ever happened. Well, not exactly like nothing had happened, but...

It's good to be around Jack, and even Mickey. People who knew the Doctor, had traveled with him and had seen wonders _besides _the backwater filth that came through the Rift, instead of people like Jones, who seems to think that the only good alien was a dead alien. Gwen and Andy are sweethearts, and the pay is great, but...

Martha just wants it to be better. She wants to stop feeling so disappointed and letdown. She thought she'd be over it by now, but the emptiness refuses to fade away, and even if it had, her family's not doing much better than they were when she first started working for Torchwood. On her free days, like this one, she just doesn't know what to do with herself. Working, even though she knows it's not healthy, is the only activity that keeps her mind from wandering to the past, or the future, or planets thousands of light-years away. Sometimes she wonders how Jack, especially with his personality and background, can stand it.

But fortunately, she's been working a lot more lately. Both she and Andy have to step up and take Gwen's place in the field. At four months pregnant, Gwen has started wearing loose clothing and trainers instead of her regular boots and leather jackets. Andy helps out when he can, but he still has to maintain his job with the police, so it is mostly Martha that starts taking Gwen's place on higher-risk missions.

On the surface, everything appears to be normal. Mickey does something new and revolutionary with the Torchwood mainframe that he is extremely excited about, but ultimately means nothing to the rest of them. Gwen smiles bracingly and keeps trying to be helpful by making coffee, much to Jones' horror. Andy keeps asking Gwen when she's going to find out the sex of the baby. Jack helps Martha improve on her marksmanship. Jones ignores them all.

But there is another side to everything, Martha is well aware of. Andy is distinctly uncomfortable with Gwen's pregnancy, despite his best efforts to hide it. If Martha wasn't sure before that Andy fancied Gwen, she certainly is now. Despite Jack's best efforts to reassure her, Gwen is terrified that her position at Torchwood will be forfeit as her pregnancy furthers. Mickey's indecision on whether to focus on technology or field work has resulted in him trying to do both, sometimes badly. Jack and Jones have avoided speaking or looking each other in the eye for almost two month now. Martha guesses they're in some kind of row, which brings up all sorts of awkward questions about what their previous relationship entailed that she would rather not think about. Martha herself is extremely uncomfortable with her specialized firearms training.

But there's no use dwelling on the unfortunate undercurrents of her job that she can't change. She knows that eventually she'll feel better, that only time can heal the ache in her chest when she remembers a particularly exciting planet. Martha will just have to wait it out, just believe that it _will get better_-it has to-and that she can't let herself wallow in depression or futilely wait for the Doctor to return. That chapter in her life has ended and now she has to look forward, to her own future this time.

But if even when her job is decent she has trouble staying positive, that's nothing compared to how she feels when something actually goes wrong.

It starts out, like most disasters do, completely ordinarily. It's a rainy day in October, and Martha has just come back from her lunch break when the call comes in.

Gwen picks it up, but the caller refuses to talk to anyone but Jack. This grabs the rest of the team's attention and they all, even Jones, blatantly stare at him through the glass windows of his office as he takes the call. At first Jack looks annoyed, but then his eyes go wide with horror before his face tightens with resolve.

"That..." Mickey says from beside her, "is not a good face, is it?"

"Great," Jones mutters under his breath. "This is not going to end well."

Truer words have never been spoken, though Martha doesn't know that at the time.

"It's a school," Jack says after a few minutes, coming out of his office and coming down the stairs, face white and gaunt. "Midsized town in Wiltshire. There's been some sort of alien attack. UNIT killed it, but they want the specialists to come and look at the body."

"Oh, god," Gwen gasps. "But it's a Wednesday...what about all the _children_?"

Jack stiffens up. "There have been a lot of deaths," he replies quietly and Gwen looks like she's going to throw up, her right hand immediately pressing up against her swollen belly.

There is a long pause as the team takes this in.

"We're leaving in fifteen minutes," Jack says calmly. "Gwen, you're staying here. If anything happens, call Andy. The rest of you are with me. Martha, get anything you think you might need from the med lab. Mickey and Jones, pack the SUV."

They all nod and get to work. Martha doesn't need much time, only grabbing equipment she's sure that UNIT won't already have on hand.

"The singularity scalpel?" Mickey asks her with a questioning eyebrow as she hands him the metal case.

"There could be parasites," Martha replies, remembering the squirming of the Mayfly in her stomach.

Mickey looks vaguely disturbed and Gwen starts rubbing her eyes frantically, smearing her mascara. But Martha knows the tears are mostly as a result of the hormones, because no one at Torchwood can escape being hardened into the type of person who barely bats an eye at a school full of children's deaths. She herself is disgusted at her own lack of reaction, especially as a doctor about to examine the bodies.

But let's face it, that started way before she began working for Torchwood.

"So..." Mickey says halfway through their hour and a half drive. "Swindon. Population: 180,061. Supposedly the second safest place to live in England."

Jack lets out a bitter laugh. "Better change the records now."

"What's the school's name again?"

"Eastrop Primary School," Jack replies automatically.

"Eastrop," Mickey repeats, typing the name into Torchwood's Privacy-What-Privacy database. "Right, here it is. 590 students, years 1 through 6."

_"Christ,_" Martha thinks.

"Did it specifically go after children?" Martha says instead. "Have there been any adult deaths?"

"Most of the teachers are dead as well as several UNIT soldiers," Jack replies, cursing under his breath as he performs a highly dangerous maneuver to get into the next lane. In the passenger seat, Martha sees the minutest wince flash across Jones' normally stoic face.

"Right," Martha mutters and scribbles that down on her pad of paper. "Did UNIT say anything else?"

Jack doesn't reply, but instead tosses her his cell phone.

After 45 minutes of talking to an increasingly distressed doctor from UNIT, the SUV pulls into the school parking lot. The entire building is surrounded by UNIT soldiers, their red berets the only difference between theirs and Jones' uniforms. There's a white plastic tent erected near a side door with a plastic tunnel leading into the school that reminds Martha eerily of E.T.

"Captain Harkness," a short, brunette woman in her forties wearing the standard black ops gear greets them civilly. "I'm Agent Johnson. I'll be your liaison with UNIT for the duration of this operation."

"Pleased to meet you," Jack says in a hollow voice, nodding curtly.

The woman runs his eyes appraising over them, crossing her arms over his black vest. She looks over Jack's greatcoat, Mickey's threadbare sweatshirt, Martha's own red leather jacket, and finally rests on Jones' standardized uniform. Her eyes linger a little while longer on Jones, but then she turns to Martha.

"Dr. Jones, right this way," she says professionally, gesturing towards the white tent. "The...creature is over here."

Martha nods, a little flattered that this woman knows her name, and opens her mouth to reply.

"We'd like to see the scene first," Jack interrupts. "And the bodies."

Martha and Mickey turn to outright stare at Jack and even Jones looks a little surprised. But the hard, determined look on Jack's face is familiar enough to all of them that they know better than to argue.

"Certainly," Johnson replies without missing a beat. "The bodies have not yet been removed from the building. We can enter this way."

_"They took out the evil alien's body before the children's? Now I remember why I left UNIT,"_ Martha thinks and takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the gore within.

It's shocking how much the carnage _doesn't_ surprise her. The bodies littered throughout the miniature hallways and bloodstains on the walls only cause her a slight feeling of queasyness. Small hands, feet, faces mean nothing to her, because she's seen this all before and so much worse in the apocalyptic year that didn't actually happen because the Doctor fixed it, he changed it, made it so that no one had to die and-

"Why are they still here?" Jack asks angrily. "The attack happened hours ago!"

"We were told not to touch the scene once Torchwood's intervention was confirmed," the woman responds, completely calm in the face of all the death.

Out of all them, Johnson is the least affected. Mickey looks like he's going to be sick at any second, Jack is white with fury, and even Jones is holding himself unnaturally stiff.

Jack doesn't appear at all satisfied with this answer and clenches his jaw in anger.

"Get the layout of the place," he orders harshly, examining the body of a blond haired boy slumped against the wall.

"Jack..." Mickey starts weakly.

"That's an order, Mickey!" Jack snaps and walks off down a long hallway to the left.

Martha frowns at Jack's vague order, uncertain of what they are supposed to be doing. She tries not to look at the bodies, frozen in time. Martha realizes that their parents must not know yet, as there were no civilians outside the building. It's two o'clock and Martha suddenly wants to be out of here as soon as possible, away when the parents start coming to pick up their children and find...

She starts after Jack, nearly tripping over a red uniform jacket left discarded among the bodies.

"Jack," she gasps after turning a corner and entering the nearest classroom. "Jack, what are we doing in here? They want me to look at the alien and there's no use wandering about here..."

Jack ignores her, crouching down to look at another child, and then another, examining their bloodied face carefully, as if looking for something.

"Jack, please," Martha begs, her voice cracking. "You need to stop. We've got work to do and-Jack, what are you _doin_-"

"He's not here," Jones says suddenly from behind her and Martha jumps nearly a foot, turning to see him leaning against the frame of the classroom door.

Jack turns.

"What?" he bites out.

"Steven Carter," Jones replies calmly. "He's not here."

Jack's eyes widen and he full on _gapes_ at Jones for almost five seconds.

"H-How-" he finally manages to stutter out, staring at Jones as if he's never seen him before in his life.

"I know he's not on the list of survivors," Jones continues. "But that's because he was called in sick today. I just checked."

For a second, Jack seems to sag in relief, but the he stiffens and stands abruptly, eyes narrowed at Jones.

"How?" he repeats, but this time in an almost accusatory voice.

Jones rolls his eyes. "You do realize that I spent my first two years at Torchwood Three spying on you. Did you honestly think I _didn't_ know?"

For a moment, they just look at each other, eyes locked in a battle of wills that Martha does not understand, before Jack finally tears away.

"Martha," he barks. "Go examine the alien. Jones, take Mickey and help Martha carry the equipment. I'll be needing to use the SUV, shouldn't be longer than half an hour. If you can't figure out what it is by the time I get back, have UNIT ship it to us. I want to be back at base at four, understand?"

"Yes, but-" Martha starts, but Jack sweeps past her and Jones and out of the classroom before she can come up with a coherent reply.

For a few moments, Martha just stares at a colorful times table poster on the wall in front of her.

"Who's Steven Carter?" she asks finally, turning towards Jones.

"Jack's grandson," Jones replies easily. "You coming?"

"Jack has a-" Martha manages to get out before she realizes that she's not remotely surprised.

She closes her eyes and inhales the stench of blood and death and rotting flesh.

"Yes," she says. "Let's get out of here."

The alien turns out to be some sort of subspecies of Hoix that Martha has not come across before. None of them have any idea why it's in Wiltshire of all places, or why it attacked a primary school with such ferocity, and quite frankly, Martha doesn't care. She's done her job and it's UNIT's problem now. She's pretty sure they were never supposed to come here in the first place, the only reason they drove all the way out being because this happened to be Jack's grandson's school. Torchwood deals with the Rift, UNIT with everything else. Or at least that's how it's supposed to go.

Jack returns with the SUV a little before 2:30, just as a couple civilians have started to crowd around the barriers in curiosity. The relief at seeing the sleek black vehicle pull into the parking lot almost causes Martha's knees to buckle. She cannot express how much she does not want to be here when parents start to show up and she has to physically restrain herself from leaping into the SUV as it rolls to a stop in front of her.

"It looks like it might be some sort of cousin of a Hoix," she reports smartly as Jack exits the vehicle. "They've taken it back to their headquarters in London now."

"Right then," Jack says, looking strangely more stressed than when he left. "Pack up the SUV-we're not hanging around."

Martha nods gratefully and hands Jones a metal case which he dutifully deposits in the trunk, Mickey right behind him.

"Thank you for coming all this way," Agent Johnson is saying to Jack. "Your Dr. Jones' input was most helpful."

"Wha-oh," Jack says, tearing his gaze away from Jones, whom he'd been watching suspiciously. "It's nothing. Always nice to have some interdepartmental cooperation, eh?"

Agent Johnson smiles blandly. "Quite," she says politely, not dropping her professional demeanor for a second. "Drive safely then."

Jack thanks her distractedly, turning to look at Jones again, but Martha keeps watching the other woman. Sure, she'd been flattered by Agent Johnson's recognition of her when she first arrived, but her complete lack of any emotional response to the slaughter of several hundred schoolchildren makes Martha's stomach turn. And there's something about the way she speaks and looks at them all...Martha doesn't like it. Something is...off.

"Well, that was _fun_," Mickey says sarcastically as they pull away from the primary school, voice hoarse and skin still a sickly pallor. "Let's never do that again."

"I'm sure if you just explain to the nasty Hoix that eating schoolchildren is bad, it won't happen again," Jones replies darkly, idly watching the crowd of worried people argue with the UNIT soldiers keeping them behind the barriers.

"Shut up, Jones," Mickey says tiredly, leaning his head back against the headrest in defeat.

There is a long silence and Martha ducks down as the people turn to stare at them, almost accusingly, as they pass the barriers. It's only once they clear the scene does she work up the strength to bring up a whole another set of questions.

"That liaison," she starts hesitantly. "Johnson. Did anyone else get that there was something odd about her?"

"Like her entire existence?" Mickey asks bitterly.

"She wasn't a liaison," Jones answers coolly. "She was a spy."

Jack jerks his head away from the road to stare at Jones, nearly swerving into the next lane,"What?"

"Watch the road!" Jones snaps in irritation, reminding Martha of a scene from her parent's marriage in a completely unnerving way.

"What do you mean?" Jack asks tersely after righting the SUV, a muscle jumping sporadically in his jaw.

"You think UNIT's trying to spy on us?" Mickey asks from beside her, looking confused.

"No..." Martha says slowly, just starting to realize something. "She wasn't UNIT."

"What?" Jacks asks, frowning and making eye contact with her through the rear-view mirror. "What are you talking about?"

"She called the alien a 'creature,'" Martha explains. "I didn't think anything of it at the time, but that's not a word someone from UNIT would use."

"Unfamiliar with aliens, but not bothered by dead bodies," Jones says. "I'm guessing military or some sort of MI5 operative. We'd better check the SUV for bugs when we get back to base."

"Shit!" Jack curses, slamming his fists against the steering wheel. "Just what we need. Another fucking power struggle!"

"Anoth-this has happened before?" Martha questions.

"In the '60s, yeah," Jack replies, running a hand through his hair distractedly. "Right when the Cold War was heating up. Some military thugs tried to get a hold of some of the alien tech we'd salvaged. Wanted to use it as some sort of weapon no doubt."

"What are we going to do?" Mickey frowns worriedly. "Is there some way-I dunno, to get them to back off?"

"First we need to find out exactly who this Johnson person is working for," Jack says irritably. "Then-wait, call Gwen, see if the computer's picked up on anything while we were gone. Then, I have to make some calls."

"Right..." Mickey mutters unconvincingly.

After verifying with Gwen that no calls of a certain import have come in, they spend the rest of the hour and a half ride in an uncomfortable silence.

Gwen won't stop asking about the children when they finally return, and Martha is at the end of her rope. It's been a long day, with the long drive to the middle of nowhere in southwestern England, with the massacred school children, with Jack's grandson, and with the looming specter of a hostile government takeover. Martha just wants to go home, take a nice long bath, curl up in bed, and sleep the entire day away. She doesn't want to think about work anymore, not about aliens, not about dead children, not even about Jack.

But she can't justify leaving early, even if Jack has holed himself up in his office making calls to various government officials and probably won't be done for a couple hours now. She still has to help with the paperwork, file her report, and try desperately not to fall to pieces.

"God, all those poor parents," Gwen whispers, clutching her stomach. "They'll all know by now."

"SHUT UP!" Martha wants to scream, the urge rising up within her gut without warning and she only barely manages to swallow it down. She just wants her to stop talking about it, stop making her see it, relive it, it and everything else-the ruins of New York City, the concentration camps of Japan, the millions of dead, butchered, decapitated, crushed, poisoned from radiation, starved, beaten-

Martha abruptly drops the form she was filling out and heads for the bathroom. She empties her lunch into the toilet and grabs at the wall for balance, gasping for breath.

She can't be here right now. She needs to go home, get away from the Hub, get away from this place where so many of her predecessors have died, get above ground, get home. She squeezes her eyes shut, remembers Project Indigo, and thinks that like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz if she only _wants_ it bad enough that she'll end up home.

But home is no longer the safe, idyllic place of her childhood, if it ever was at all. Her parents are divorced, their brief reconciliation going bad even before the full psychological implications of their year in hell hit her father and broke him completely. He's in a mental institution, her mother nearly a shut-in, younger sister no longer the boisterous troublemaker, but sad and reclusive, and younger brother unreceptive and hostile.

She rinses out her mouth and her face before quietly leaving the bathroom. No one looks up when she walks across the Hub and through the cog door, and she's _so_ glad. She takes the elevator back up to the decaying tourist's office and barely gets out the door before someone stops her.

"Martha!" Mickey calls, letting the door swing shut behind him, sounding slightly out of breath. "Martha, wait."

"I'm really tired, Mickey," Martha tells him, all the energy she has left focusing on steadying her voice. "I just need to go home."

He doesn't look convinced and takes a few steps closer, wrapping his arms around himself against the October wind.

"You don't look alright," he says, looking concerned and she inwardly curses his perceptiveness.

"I just need to go home," Martha repeats, closing her eyes against the tears that she knows are going to come if she stays here much longer.

"Hey," he says kindly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She turns away abruptly so he won't see her face crumple and just manages to stifle her sob in her coat.

"Martha..." he says worriedly.

"Sorry," she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm a bit sort of a mess. I think it's starting to hit me."

She wipes her eyes furiously.

"Stupid, huh," she mutters, just to make the awkward silence stop. "I've seen worse, _so_ much worse and when we first went in I thought I was going to be okay, and then I was, and then I was sort of mad about that, but now I'm not-and this is just ridiculou-"

"It's not," Mickey says quietly.

Martha inhales deeply and tilts her head back to look at the sky, feeling the cold autumn air sting her cheeks and wet eyes.

When the wind has dried up her tears, she turns back to her colleague and tries to smile.

"Sorry," she says again. "I think I'm okay now."

"Don't apologize," he says, with a funny sort of look on his face that Martha can't quite decipher.

"No," Martha waves his words away. "I'm a mess and I shouldn't be because-"

She sees his hand go out, sees the look of intent on his face, sees him move closer, but her mouth still goes slack in surprises as he presses his lips against hers, palm cupping her right cheek gently.

For a second, they're frozen there and then he jerks back in. They stare at each other in shock, Martha's mouth feeling warm and strange in the cold night air.

"I-shit," Mickey stutters uncharacteristically, talking another step back. "I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean to, that, I mean..."

"Oh," Martha says slowly.

"N-No!" he interjects, holding his hands up defensively. "I didn't mean that I should _never_, but...not the right time. Awful time, in fact."

Martha can only stare at his flushed red cheeks and the awkward way he's holding himself. Because it's _Mickey_, Torchwood Three's resident, gruff, stoic tech with a penchant for large firearms and she never even _thought_ of him as-

"Christ," he groans, wincing. "I'm really sorry. Lemme...Lemme just take you home and if you want we can never mention this again."

"Okay..." she replies slowly and follows him to the parking lot next to the Plass.

But she's only agreeing to the first part of that sentence, because...Sure, his timing might be awful and it could just be the mental breakdown talking, but maybe, when the timing isn't so awful, just _maybe_...maybe there's something there to consider.

**A/N: Hooray for melodrama! And also Mickey and Martha! I especially had a lot of fun doing Mickey's POV because I absolutely adore him for reasons I'm not actually all that sure about. Anyway, next chapter will be the conclusion and I hope you enjoyed this one. Please review!**


	6. Part VI

Part VI-

"What are we going to do?" Gwen Cooper asks Jones worriedly. "I mean, there's only the six of us now that Two's shut down. What are we supposed to do if they decide to take us over?"

"I don't think they want to shut us down," Jones replies absentmindedly, typing up his report on the slaughtered schoolchildren without any visible discomfort. "I reckon they just want to control us. Harkness is sort of a loose-canon, if you haven't noticed."

Gwen lets out an amused snort at Jones' understated description. Martha and Mickey have gone home, looking worn-out and miserable from the bloodbath, and only her and Jones remain. Jack is still up in his office making calls and technically Gwen should be home now, but she can't bring herself to leave when it seems that the world could fall down around them at any second.

"But do you think they could, if they wanted to?" Gwen continues, sitting down at the computer chair next to Jones, but avoiding looking at the screen. "I mean, we have the Queen's support, yeah?"

"The Queen does like Jack, God knows why," Jones agrees, slipping up and using their Captain's first name as he sometimes-rarely-does. "But she's not exactly the highest political authority anymore. She funds us, Royalty's always funded Torchwood, but I'm not sure she could do anything if the higher-ups decided to give us the boot."

"You're not exactly being very reassuring here," Gwen scowls, taking another sip of her coffee.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be," Jones replies archly, but Gwen's known him far too long to be offended, so she just rolls her eyes and glances up at Jack's office.

Sometimes she contemplates the strange twist of fate that allowed the relationship between her and Jones to change so much over the past three years. She was frightened by him in the beginning, hated him, or at the very least hated what he represented, and now every once and a while she thinks that he's probably her best friend.

"I guess it doesn't make sense that they would want to shut Torchwood down," she says, mostly to herself, to calm her nerves. "We _are_ the only people who stand between this city and it's total destruction by alien forces. And we _do_ occasionally save the world."

"Assuming the bureaucrats see the value in that sort of thing, of course," Jones says darkly with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"I dunno, there _is_ a lot of money to be made in the world," Gwen replies in good humor and is rewarded with a small smile from her teammate.

"So we're worried about spies, too?" she asks. "What does that mean?"

"It means that they're interested, maybe even worried about us, but that it's a pretty recent development," Jones answers pragmatically, eyes still glued to the monitor. "Assuming that Johnson is the first move they've made, which is most likely considering we've hardly had contact with any other government organizations in the past couple years."

"So they're getting people to spy on us to...what? Scope us out?"

"Probably. It's unlikely they know much about us, despite Harkness' utter ineptitude at anything resembling secrecy," Jones says loftily, hitting a couple keys on the keyboard before printing the document and turning to look at her. "But don't worry, I know all the tricks they'll use if they send a spy here."

"But why?" Gwen asks uncomfortably, avoiding the mention of Jones' former status at Torchwood Three. "And why now?"

"Well, the Dalek invasion certainly turned some heads. The existence of aliens doesn't seem so mad anymore, I'm guessing," Jones says while heading across the Hub to the printer. "And if there is an actual alien threat, would you really want someone like_ Harkness_ in charge of your only defense?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gwen asks touchily.

Jones rolls his eyes. "Don't be naïve, Cooper. You were a copper, you know how these kind of things work. Harkness' hardly bureaucratic material. And suddenly Torchwood has a lot more political pull in the eyes of the British government. Not to mention he's extremely arrogant, impulsive, uncooperative, and has scores of enemies throughout the government."

Gwen raises her eyebrows at Jones' unusually bitter assessment, but resists the urge to call him out on it. It's obvious that Jones and Jack haven't been getting on these past few months, and she knows better than to get in the middle of that. She doesn't know exactly what they're sore over, but she suspects it has to do with what Jones inadvertently confessed to in Dublin. It's an uncomfortable situation and she doesn't like thinking about it, partly because she's never been able to reconcile the idea of Jones actually _in love_ with their boss, even though she knows they've been...intimate, and partly because she knows there's no way this can end well, for either of them.

"Ugh, this entire thing is just idiotic," she groans leaning back in her chair to stare up at the ceiling. "I never signed up for this political bullshit, I just want to shoot aliens. To protect people, yeah? I don't give a shit about stupid intergovernmental power struggles."

"Of course," Jones agrees in amusement. "Oh, look, Harkness' off the phone."

"Right," Gwen says, standing and holding her pregnant belly to steady herself. "Let's see whether we still have our jobs."

She takes the lead, Jones following her up the stairs to Jack's office after a moment of brief hesitation, and enters the room just in time to see her boss throw the phone at the wall.

"Jack, what's going on?" Gwen asks, aghast.

"Frosbisher's a lying _son of a bitch_!" Jack rages, slamming his palms down on his desk and causing several piles of papers to topple over. "He's in on it, he's fucking _in on it_!"

"Frobisher? Who's-"

"Our liaison to the British government," Jones replies, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Jack carefully. "He's a civil servant."

"Shit," Jack snarls, whirling around and starting to pace back and forth behind his desk. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"So this Frobisher bloke...he's trying to infiltrate us?" Gwen asks slowly. "Or take over?"

"I don't know," Jack says through gritted teeth. " Could be either. Or both. He didn't admit to anything specifically, but I know when I'm being humored. _Fuck_, this is bad!"

"Why would they do this to us?" Gwen whispers, starting to get really worried. She knows it must be bad; she hasn't seen Jack this upset even about the end of the _world_.

"This is-" Jack pauses, looking around the room. "Where are Mickey and Martha, this is an emergency!"

"It's almost eleven, Jack," Gwen explains, softly. "They've gone home."

"What? Fine," Jack says distractedly, as if he didn't hear her. "Dammit, if Frobisher's conspiring against us, that means the Home Office's behind him. He'd never do anything without their full support, the spineless git!"

"The _Home Office_?" Gwen gasps.

"Frobisher's the Permanent Secretary," Jones informs her.

"But-" Gwen realizes, cold fear paralyzing her lungs. "But that's-"

"Everyone!" Jack finishes furiously, starting to pace again. "Police, MI5, anti-terrorism forces! And Frobisher-that _bastard_-he's been the liaison to Torchwood since the '80s, so he knows about my-my _condition_," he says bitterly and kicks his desk.

"Jack!" Gwen says, shocked at this unusual display of temper.

"Cooper, can you get the files on the Home Office and UNIT from the archives?" Jones asks suddenly, with a significant look in her direction. "They're in the IGO section."

Gwen blinks at the strange request. Besides the odd timing, _Jones_ has always been the one to sift through the archives. And, technically, as she's second-in-command, he shouldn't be giving her orders.

"Er..." she starts and he throws her another, slightly more pointed look. "Alright."

She exits the office slowly, unable to help throwing a glance back at Jack's furious motions and the oddly determined look on Jones' face.

It takes her a couple minutes to figure out where the file is; Gwen's not down in the archives all that often, but eventually she finds it and it's bloody _enormous_. It's just pre-90's papers, too, the more modern information must all be on the Torchwood database, and it take her three trips to carry all of the file folders up. By the time she's gotten them onto the main floor, she's breathing like she just ran a marathon, sweating buckets, and stuck between being furious at Jones for not considering the fact that she's _four months pregnant_ or grateful that it didn't even cross his mind. Refusing to carry them all up to Jack's office when it'll most likely be more convenient to look through them all on the ground floor, she starts to walk up the stairs to inform them she's got their bloody files, catching snippets of Jack and Jones' conversation as she goes.

"-eed to get a hold of yourself," Jones is saying harshly. "You're a bloody mess, you are. You need to get a grip, Harkness, or we're all going to go under."

"How many different ways can I say that I _don't _wantyour opinion?" Jack retorts coldly, and without knowing why, Gwen freezes in her tracks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"And yet, somehow, I don't give a damn," Jones says rudely.

"That's enough," Jack hisses. "Today is _not_ the day to cross me, Jon-"

"Yes, today was a particularly bad day, but you need to get over it," Jones says bluntly, and even though Gwen can't see either of them, she can almost_ feel_ the hostility radiating off Jack at that. "Our entire _existence _is at stake here! You need to pull yourself together and _do_ something or Torchwood is going t-"

"You think I don't know that!" Jack shouts.

There is a long pause and Gwen closes her eyes against an impromptu kick from the baby girl-her _daughter_, how bloody mad is that?- inside her.

"You're the one who decided to keep quiet and pretend that nothing was wrong," Jones says quietly and Gwen frowns, now completely lost. "I don't think I can stress how much time _we do not have_ for this."

"Oh, that's _rich_, coming from you!" Jack snarls in response and there's a sound that sounds like something has fallen off of Jack's desk again.

There is a long, awkward silence, and Gwen shifts hesitantly halfway up the stairs, wondering if this is her cue to enter.

"Now you listen to me," Jones says seriously, voice tight with an emotion that might be anger. "You're our leader, and you need to start acting like it, so get a hold of yourself. We're going to look through all our files and then you're going to make some phone calls. The Home Office might be against us, but I _know_ you have friends in high places, higher and more powerful than the Queen. Frobisher may want us gone or restrained, but there are a lot of other powerful people with a vested interest in keeping Torchwood Three, with you at its head, intact. I'm pretty sure I still have the list I made a couple years ago, somewhere, if it helps."

"And if I fail?" Jack says in a pained sort of voice, as if every syllable is costing him something incredibly precious to utter.

"Don't," Jones advises, almost cruelly. "You're our _leader. _You are the only one who can stop this, Harkness. We _need_ you to stop this."

"But no pressure," Jack quips bitterly, in a way that Gwen knows by now as the tone of voice he uses when he has no idea what else to say. Where other people are speechless, Jack jokes.

Jones doesn't reply.

"I thought you'd be for this more than anyone," Jack admits after a few seconds. "You've never had much respect for my methods."

"I think your methods are reckless, unreasonable, and occasionally, just plain stupid," Jones says in his usual tactless fashion. "But I trust you a hell of a lot more than I trust some bloody bureaucrat from London."

Beat.

"You know," Jack murmurs, so softly Gwen can barely make out what he's saying. "Sometimes I really _hate_ you."

"Only some of the time?" Jones asks without any real emotion. "Well, that's progress from where we first started out."

There is another pause and abruptly, Gwen begins to feel guilty for eavesdropping on a conversation that is rapidly getting more and more personal.

"Jack!" she calls out, trying to make her voice sound farther down the stairs than she actually is. "I've got the files!"

"Coming!" Jack replies after a beat, and Gwen tiptoes back down to the ground floor and opens a manila folder.

The three of them meticulously sift though the files over the next hour or so before Jack suddenly realizes the time and makes them go home. They still have to go through the database and all the Torchwood One stuff that Tosh didn't upload to the mainframe, but it's a start. It's still sort of terrifying and stressful, but Gwen no longer feels like some paramilitary organization is going to storm the Hub at any given second. Jones is right, Jack has been working for Torchwood for more than a hundred years. He's bound to have connections all throughout the government or he wouldn't be able to get away with all the mad stunts he pulls on a regular basis. They'll make it through this. They have to.

"Well, what was it this time?" Rhys mumbles sleepily as she gets into bed beside him, snuggling against his side. "Tentacle monsters? Psychotic killer robots?"

"Worse," Gwen murmurs into his hair. "The British government."

She doesn't mention the schoolchildren, not because she wants to lie to Rhys, but because no one wants to hear about dead children, especially not a father-to-be.

Rhys snorts with laughter and turns over, reaching around to lay his hand on her stomach. She smiles softly and covers his hand with her own. He's the only one who she really feels comfortable with doing this. Sure, it was kind of neat how many people stopped her on the street when she first started showing, but it got old and a bit intrusive real fast.

"So, I was thinking of a name..." he murmurs, stroking her hair on her cheek and Gwen smiles and burrows her head further into his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Jack Harkness is a fucking coward.<p>

He knows he was one before he met the Doctor, before he started caring about anyone but himself, but he thought he'd moved past it over the last hundred something years. He puts himself in the path of all manner of horrific dangers everyday, but he can't bring himself to talk honestly with one of his employees. He's tried. He really, really has. But he can't seem to find the words to say. What _is_ he supposed to say? And Jones, Jones is completely unhelpful, all stoic and calm and clearly not as bothered by all this as Jack is unless it's just a front, but it would have to be a pretty spectacular front, right?

Because Jones said he loves him. _Loves _him! Which is terrifying and wonderful and _insane_, because this is _Jones_, for God's sake, and since when does he give a damn about anyone else besides his dead girlfriend? Never, that's when. So, all Jack can think is that he must be lying. It just doesn't make sense. Jones couldn't be in love with him. Wouldn't he have noticed? Jack has always been good at telling whether people genuinely fancied him or not. And he gets _nothing_ off Jones. Jones doesn't blush around him or got distracted when Jack made lewd jokes. Jones isn't even _nice _to him. In fact, he is kind of an arsehole. He has never given any indication that he felt anything more than mild disapproval of him and now Jack is supposed to believe that he's in _love_ with him? Fat chance.

So, Jack keeps his mouth shut. He has to take a step back and figure out what the hell is going on before he acts. He has to observe, be careful now not to rush into anything because he knows he's too emotionally invested to risk doing something stupid. He waits and watches, pretending that everything is completely normal all the while, because what else can he do?

That's what he tells himself at least. But it's been three months since Jones' confession and he's still at loss what to do. He knows what he wants, what he feels, has known for almost a year now actually, but he still has no idea what course of action to take. He knows he should probably confront Jones, but it'd be so much easier if he got the impression that Jones gave a fuck. Because as it is, Jones seems completely unburdened by the dilemma Jack has found himself in. He continues to act as if nothing ever happened between them, in the same way that he behaved after they all found out what really happened to Lisa Hallet. It's really annoying and confusing, and despite his many conquests, Jack doesn't think he's ever fallen for someone as emotionally constipated as Jones before and thus he feels like he's playing totally blind.

So, yeah, he's a coward, and no, he doesn't say anything and of course, neither does Jones. And that's how three months go by, awkward, filled with the long game of meaningless flattery and bureaucratic niceties that Jack is forced to play to save Torchwood, and completely devoid of sex, with no end in sight. The sex part, at least. Thankfully, he thinks they're almost out of the woods on Frobisher's backstabbing plot to take them over. At first it had seemed especially daunting, with no way of knowing what Frobisher was planning. But with the unlikely aid of Frobisher's young PA, who had at first remained immune to Jack's flirtation, but then had done some snooping on her boss' computer and decided to help them after all, Jack is pretty sure that the future of Torchwood is safe.

"Uh...Jack?" Andy calls up to his office just after sunset on a particularly cold day in November, "You better look at this."

Intrigued at his shell-shocked tone, Jack dutifully walks down the stairs to the main level to look at Gwen's computer that Andy has taken over as Gwen has started taking half days when things are slow.

"A police report was just filed in Penylan," Andy explains as Jack nears. "A Costcutter was just trashed. It's run by a Muslim woman, so the report pegged it as a hate crime, but the witnesses' statements made it sound like the attacker was...well, just look at this."

He pulls up a grainy security camera feed of the front of the store. Suddenly, a masked, humanoid figure bursts into the store, letting out an ear-piercing roar in a language that Jack doesn't understand. It grabs a terrified businessman and tosses him against the wall and proceeds to kick over a couple shelves.

"Pause it," Jack orders, leaning over to peer at the monitor. "Can you magnify that?" he asks, pointing at the face of the attacker.

"Err..." Andy stutters, mousing over the video. "Wait, I think I can..."

"Here," Mickey says, coming up from behind him to take the mouse. "Lemme deal with the tech stuff, mate."

He magnifies the face and then then amplifies the picture quality until it's clear that...

"...that's not a mask, is it?"Mickey says slowly.

"Is that _one _eye?" Andy gapes.

"Fuck," Jack says. "A Jagaroth."

"What's a Jagaroth again?" Martha questions as they speed off to Penylan. "There's nothing on them in our database."

"They're supposed to be extinct," Jack says shortly, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as the light ahead of him turns red. "They're known for their violent and warlike behavior. Dammit! This is why I hate time travel!"

"Time travel?" Andy questions.

"What part of _extinct_ do you not understand?" Jones replies coldly.

Andy scowls. "Hey, watch it. You're not exactly a font of knowledge her-"

"Enough," Jack says wearily. "Andy, the Rift is a tear in both space _and_ time. You know that woman in London, Emma Morrison, that we keep tabs on? She came here on by airplane through the Rift from 1953."

"And she couldn't get back?" Andy asks, looking horrified.

"Nope," Jack says quietly, suddenly remembering that out of the the five people in the SUV, only he and Jones were present when the Sky Gypsy landed in Cardiff, almost three years ago now. Gwen is at home, Owen and Tosh are dead, and now Jones is the only one left. Without thinking, Jack glances at Jones in the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye. Jones doesn't notice.

"From what I remember, Jagaroths were extremely technologically advanced and were able to mimic other life forms. But considering the way it appeared in that Costcutter and its behavior I'd say its lost, probably without technology. That's a good thing," he adds to Mickey, who looks rather disappointed.

"Do you think they're more of them?" Martha wants to know.

"Doubtful," Jack replies gratefully. "If they came as a force, Cardiff would've been in ruins by now, but we'd better keep monitoring the area after we catch this one to be sure."

"Will our tranqs work on them?" Mickey asks dubiously. "Guns?"

"I have no idea," Jack answers truthfully. "I've never actually come across one before."

"Great," Jones mutters in that annoyingly pessimistic way of his.

They start at the Costcutter and slowly circle out from there. Three hours go by and still no joy, so they separate to cover more ground.

"Jack, I don't think we're going to find anything," Andy says over the comm at around eight. "I don't think that it's here anymor-Bloody hell, there it is!"

"Where are you?" Jack demands immediately, stopping in his tracks.

"In an alley off Waterloo Rd," Andy whispers. "It's digging through the dumpster outside of a restaurant. Bugger, I think it's seen me!"

"Don't do anything stupid!" Mickey cautions, breath coming in short puffs over the comm. "I'll be there in a second, I think. Christ, I hate the suburbs! Everything looks the same!"

"Martha, Jones, where are you?" Jack asks, messing with his wriststrap. "I'm all the way up by the athletic center."

"I'm on Winchester Ave," Martha replies. "Is that close?"

"Keep going north on Pen-y-lan for two blocks and then turn right!" Jack answers, consulting his wriststrap. "Back Mickey and Andy up! Jones, what about you?"

There is no reply.

"Jones?" Jack tries again. "Jones, come in!"

No answer.

"Uh, bad news, Jack," Andy shouts. "Tranq guns don't work!"

"Idiot," Jack hisses, jumping over an inconveniently placed decorative shrub as he reaches the end of the residential area. "Wait for backup!"

Andy doesn't reply.

"Andy!" Jack calls. "Andy!"

"Martha?" Mickey hisses.

"Bit busy right now!" she shouts and Jack hears shots in the background before the line goes dead.

"Shit!" Jack curses, running flat out now. "What the hell is going on there! Mickey, are you close?"

"Not yet, I've got caught up!"

"Jones," Jack tries again, and tries not to remember the last time, in 1973, when he lost two teammates in a radio silence. "Jones, are you there!"

Nothing.

He nearly gets himself killed streaking across the highway, but it's still another five minutes 'til he reaches the alley.

"Martha!" he yells into the night. "Andy!"

"Over here!" Martha screams, sounding shrill and afraid. "Hurry!"

He lunges toward her voice, turning a corner to find her crouched down next to a stack of crates, Andy's head cradled in her lap.

"Is he-?" Jack manages to choke out past his gasping breaths.

Andy groans in response, head shifting to reveal a thick streak of blood down the entire left side of his face.

"He got clocked pretty hard," Martha whispers, her right arm bent at an unnatural angle. "It's so strong, Jack, and our firearms don't work on it. It just threw us to the side."

"Where's Mickey?" Jack gasps, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the brick wall. "He was closer than me."

"I haven't heard from him," Martha says, voice taking on an unnatural lilt. "And Jones?"

"Nothing," Jack replies, clenching his teeth, as if bracing himself through saying the words will make them hurt less.

Suddenly there's a crash from the street up ahead and Jack draws his pistol, edging past Martha and Andy out of the alley.

The Jagaroth snarls and twists around as he slowly approaches, jaw flaps shuddering and green tendrils on its face squirming frantically.

"Whoa, hold on," Jack says, immediately raising his hands. "I just want to talk."

It snarls something incomprehensible out, shoulders hunching defensively.

"Okay, so you don't speak English, which makes sense, really. Rather annoying language," Jack says lightly, hoping that Martha will use the opportunity to take Andy and get help. "What about Galactic Standard? Chuluan? Shadaic?"

The Jagaroth's head jerks at the last language, pupil dilating.

"Of course, you would understand Shadaic," Jack mutters under his breath. "All those different ways to say "to kill?" How could you resist?"

"You," the Jagaroth says in Shadaic, its voice shockingly low and booming for its shape. "Take me to my ship."

"Sorry," Jack replies, hoping he's not too rusty. "Your ship is gone. You've fallen through a rift in space and time. This is the planet Earth."

"This place," it snarls, looking around the suburban center. "It is...unfamiliar."

"Kind of a backwater planet, Earth," Jack agrees carefully. "But you get used to it after a while. So...I'm going to have to ask you to come with me now."

"Why is that?" it asks warily.

"You've caused a bit of a mess," Jack says slowly. "Humans aren't used to seeing ali-other life forms not native to this planet."

"And you presume to stop me?" it laughs, voice echoing eerily. "One lone inferior creature?"

"Jack," Martha says from behind him. She's placed Andy's head gently on the ground and has stood up, pointing her gun at the Jagaroth. "What is it saying?"

"It's lost," Jack tells her in English. "Let me deal with it."

"Not likely," Martha says determinedly, coming to stand next to him.

"Martha-!" Jack starts exasperatedly.

"Foolish creatures," the Jagaroth mocks. "Your weapons do not harm me and you break so easily. Already have I killed one of your comrades and injured two others. You shall be next."

"Kille-" Jack starts and then stops, an ice cold feeling spreading through his chest. "Wh...at?"

But he knows exactly what it's talking about. It's Jones. He's known since Jones hadn't answered any of his calls over the past fifteen minutes. He just didn't want to admit it.

He's firing before he consciously makes the decision to pull the trigger and empties all six bullets into the Jagaroth with no visible effect.

"Jack, what-" Martha cries, but then they're both throwing themselves out of the way as the Jagaroth barrels towards them.

Jack aims a rage fueled punch at the alien, but it smacks him aside with one green arm. He collides with the wall and hears Martha shoot a couple more times to no avail.

"Weak and inferior," the Jagaroth is booming by the time he staggers to his feet.

It's standing over a barely conscious Martha, gripping her by the throat.

"Don'," Andy mutters from the other side of the alley as Martha chokes, shifting painfully. "Don' do tha."

"Hey!" Jack shouts furiously, running toward it, because he's not going to let Martha and Andy die too, not here, not now. "HEY!"

He throws himself on the back of the Jagaroth, grabbing hold of its neck and forcing it to let go of Martha. With a booming roar, the alien throws him off, sending him careening into the dumpster.

"Pathetic," it intones as Jack lies gasping on the ground, colorful lights dancing over his vision. "Your weapons and technology are unimpressive. You will die now."

"Wanna bet?" comes Mickey's voice from the other end of the alley and before Jack can even turn to look at him there's the dull roar of an oversized gun and the Jagaroth _implodes_.

They all gape at Mickey for a few seconds, looking between him and the dead alien and back again.

"Wow," Andy slurs. "You are so hot right now."

Martha nods, stunned, and despite the fact that this is _Mickey Smith_, Jack can't help but agree.

Mickey shoulders his gun, quirking an eyebrow.

"Please never say that again," he tells Andy. "Sorry, I took so long. I figured we'd need extra firepower so I made a pit stop."

"No problem," Martha says hoarsely, massaging her bruised throat. "We need to get him to a hospital. He's going to need a CT scan."

"Are _you_ alright?" Mickey asks her, looking concerned.

"Fine," Martha says, giving him a small smile. "Jack?"

"Go ahead and take them to the hospital," Jack tells Mickey, standing up even though every single muscle in his body protests vehemently. "I'll clean this up."

"Jack, where's Jones?" Mickey asks, and for a second Jack's throat constricts and he feels like he can't breathe.

"I don't know," Jack says roughly, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw to avoid the overwhelming urge to cry.

"Drop off Martha and Andy and come back here for clean-up," he modifies.

"What are you going to do?" Martha, perceptive Martha, asks.

_"Find Jones' body," _Jack thinks, but instead, silently, helps Mickey with Andy and tries not to scream.

* * *

><p>Ianto Jones groans, pushing himself off the ground unsteadily. He's in a parking lot outside of a funeral home and his head feels like someone bashed him over the head with a stop sign. Mostly because someone did bash him over the head with a stop sign.<p>

He reaches up to touch his head gingerly and is pleased to find no blood. He spots his mobile on the ground next to him, in pieces though, and he groans in frustration. He's in the middle of _Penylan_ without any means of communication in the middle of the night. He's _never_ going to get back to civilization.

"Fuck," Ianto mutters and picks up the pieces of his ruined mobile. He doesn't bring his spare with him on missions to avoid breaking it, so he's completely on his own. Holstering his gun, Ianto heads for the road and hopes he can remember the way back to the SUV.

He walks northward for a couple of minutes, avoiding the headlights of the occasional passing car as he's wicked conspicuous. It takes about ten minutes for him to reach a sort of shopping area that he thinks he vaguely recognizes, but there's still a couple of people walking around, coming out of restaurants and the pub, so he shies away, wishing for once he had worn civilian clothes.

He loops around the back of the commercial area, through an alley that separates a chiropractic clinic and a nice Italian restaurant, and turns a corner to see Jack.

"Oi!" he says and Jack whirls around, face barely visible in the streetlight up ahead on the road. "Did you find it, then?"

Jack doesn't say anything and as Ianto gets closer, he can make out the shocked expression on Jack's face.

"Wh-What?" Jack croaks finally, looking thrown.

"The Jagaroth," Ianto clarifies impatiently. "I ran into it a couple blocks south of here. Guns don't work o-"

"Why the _hell_ aren't you answering your comm?" Jack interrupts furiously, striding toward him with an almost manic look on his face.

"Mobile broke," Ianto answers, confused as to why Jack's so worked up about this and purposefully not mentioning the whole being knocked unconscious thing. "Why are you-Mmmgh!"

Jack has grabbed him by the labels of his vest and mashed his mouth against his so violently that it could almost be mistaken as a punch, except for, you know, all the tongue.

Ianto's so taken aback that he just stands there for a few seconds, before gripping Jack tightly by the back of the neck and kissing back desperately.

And, _oh, God_, has he missed this. The feeling of Jack's arm around his waist, rough wool under his hands, Jack's mouth against his. It's utterly mad, standing in a dark alley in _Penylan_ with his boss' hand creeping under his shirt and his tongue down his throat and he knows he should stop, for so many reasons, but he just _can't_.

"Fuck," Jack groans, pulling away for air and kissing the spot on the back of Ianto's neck that he _knows _drives him crazy. "Fuck, I thought you were _dead_."

"What?" Ianto says shrilly, Jack's words enough to jar him out of his Jack-induced stupor. "What are y-"

"Shut up," Jack hisses, melding their mouths together again and shoves him against the brick wall on one side of the alley.

The abruptness of the entire sequence of events causes Ianto to blink in bewilderment as Jack unzips his vest and slides his hands down his chest.

"Wh-what?" he says again, feeling lightheaded and rather like he's caught in an extremely vivid dream.

"Shut up," Jack repeats roughly and bites at the hollow of his throat.

Ianto groans and reaches for Jack again, winding his fingers in his-admittedly great-hair and looping his arm around his neck, pulling his head closer to his to kiss him again. Jack gets his hand up Ianto's shirt again, much more easily now that his vest is unzipped, and they're pressed hip to hip, Jack's greatcoat to Ianto's under armor and Ianto has_ no idea_ what is happening.

"Maybe," he mumbles in between kisses and Jack's frantic fumbling with his trousers. "Maybe this isn't the best-"

"Oh, it is _definitely_ the best," Jack moans, and Ianto is _extremely _hard-pressed to come up with a reasonable argument against that.

_Alright,_ Ianto thinks, _alright_, and just gives in, even though this isn't something he's ever done before. He's always been an intensely private person, never done anything _remotely_ close to having it off in an alley, not with Meghan, not with Lisa, not even with the anonymous woman he almost slept with after Lisa's death, but didn't at the last second, and not with Jack before this. Even with Jack, he's confined things like this to private areas like his flat or Jack's room, despite his boss' exhibitionist tendencies. He's never been quite as comfortable with himself in the sexual sense as the average person, and certainly not as comfortable as Jack.

But, it's _Jack_ and Ianto's missed him, missed this, and sure, alright, he hasn't gotten laid in three months, too, and after a year and a half of regular sex that's a long time. So, it's okay if he's a little uncomfortable, okay if this is a bit too much for him, because he's spent his whole life with entirely too little, and Jack has always been a very good kisser and a good-

"Ngh, haaah, al...right, that's...er, very, um," Ianto babbles, because Jack's got his hand, well, and he never did say what happened to the Jagaroth and it'd be pretty embarrassing if Jack had to tell Rhiannon that he got killed while receiving a handjob from his boss in an alley.

Groaning, Ianto leans forward to press his forehead against Jack's and he clutches the back of Jack's coat, kissing him just for the pleasure of contact with Jack's mouth.

"Ah, mgnhmm," Ianto moans as Jack twists his wrist just right, clenching his teeth against the embarrassing sounds leaving his throat and twisting his head away. He's not usually this embarrassed by his own noises, but Jack is being uncommonly quiet, favoring quick, desperate kisses on his mouth and neck, instead of his usual nonstop filthy commentary. It's enough to make a bloke (even more) self-conscious.

But, whatever, it's fine, _great _actually, until Jack finishes futzing with his trousers and sinks to his knees.

"W-Wait, Jack, I don't thi-" Ianto stutters, starting to panic now, but Jack just puts his palm to his abdomen. He presses him back into the wall and then his mouth is _on _him and-

"Mmmm! Jack, I'm not...ngh!" he gasps, trying to squirm out of the way. "Jack, I don't, please, _fuck_!"

The back of his head hits the wall and for a second he stares up at the night sky, before squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the sensations brought on by Jack's extremely talented mouth. He digs his fingernails into Jack's shoulders, but Ianto can't make himself let go, even though he knows he should, knows he shouldn't let him, shouldn't let him see. Because it's too much, too exposed, too open, and Jack'll _see _him. He jerks his head to the side after a moment, trying to conceal his face and regain control, but it doesn't do any good, Jack won't let him hide.

"Jesus Chri-ah, ah, ng, Jack, wai-hah! Ah!" Ianto brings his right arm up to his mouth and bites down on the back of his hand _hard_ to stifle his voice when Jack does something with his tongue that feels so good it should be _illegal_.

But it's too much, Jack has always flat-out said that he could make Ianto scream if he would just let him go down on him, and there's a reason Ianto's never let him do this before because he knows just how vulnerable he is now. He tastes blood as a particularly strong wave of pleasure hits him, and he jerks helplessly against the wall as his feels his orgasm approaching, unstoppable and so completely out of his control that he almost wishes he could disappear into thin air. Because he's completely at Jack's mercy now, it's just him and Jack, one of Jack's hands holding him up against the wall, he's _sucking him off_ in an alley, a rabid alien might kill them both at any second, and the fingers on Jack's other hand are-

Ianto comes with an embarrassingly high-pitched cry, only slightly muffled against the back of his hand. His vision whites out for a few seconds and he slumps backwards with a series of pathetic sounding moans. He shudders against the wall as he struggles to remain lucid and by the time he's come back to himself Jack has stood and done up his trousers.

"Oh, hell," Jack says when he sees Ianto's hand and he reaches out to grab his wrist and inspect the bloody bite mark before Ianto can try and hide it. "Look what you've done to yourself."

He's wiped his mouth, but Ianto can still see a stain on the right corner. He suddenly has to suppress the wretched urge to sob.

"I can't," he blurts out without any sort of thought behind his words. "Jack, I can't."

He tries to pull his hand away, but Jack's fingers tighten on his wrist and he gets a hard look of determination on his face that Ianto recognizes oh so well.

"What do you mean?"

"Jack, I just can't," Ianto says again, weakly trying to struggle his wrist out of Jack's grasp. He has to get away, put some space between them because he can't have this conversation when Jack's only mere centimeters away.

But Jack doesn't let go, and instead presses his other hand against the two bricks right above Ianto's left shoulder, trapping him.

"I can't do this again," Ianto says desperately. "I can't...Last time, I almost...When Lisa...I could barely...and now..."

"Hey," Jack says soothingly, reaching down to cup his elbow, but Ianto doesn't let him talk.

"I just can't," he says distraughtly, almost hysterical. "Jack, there'll be nothing _left_ of me!"

Jack frowns, looking confused, and opens his mouth to interject, but Ianto can't let him talk. Not if he plans on saying what he needs to say.

"No," he says, pressing himself back against the wall as far as he can go. "Don't. Listen. I'm not...I'm not like you, Jack. I'm weak. I can't...I can't _endure_ it like you can. I just..."

He flails for the right words, still trying to pull his wrist out of Jack's reach, but somehow ends up with both hands on Jack's shoulders, Jack supporting him by the elbows.

"That's ridiculous," Jack starts hotly. "You are _not_ wea-"

"Oh, you have no idea," Ianto cuts him off, closing his eyes, because part of him feels like he might cry. "You have no idea what I've done, in London, just following orders, just..._cruising _along, doing whatever they-"

"I am not exactly the best person to be making moral judgments about the things you've done in the name of Torchwood," Jack says quietly. He slides his hands down to rest on Ianto's waist.

"Hey," he murmurs, eyes surprisingly soft.

"I can't," Ianto says for the ninth time, reaching down to push Jack's hands off him. "I just can't do this again, because it's only going to end in tragedy anyway and I couldn't...I didn't want...I tried so _hard_ not to be...to be...but I just couldn't not...But it'd be better if we didn't, it'd be easier, because this can't possibly end well and-"

Jack pulls him forward by the waist and wraps his arms around him so suddenly that Ianto stiffens up defensively.

"Hey," he says again, breath warming his left ear. "It's alright, I've got you."

That's the last straw for Ianto and he squeezes his eyes shut, gripping Jack's shoulders so tightly that it's probably painful.

"Fuck," he gasps, letting his head drop onto Jack's shoulder. " Fuck, Jack. _Jack_."

Later, they clean up the Jagaroth's body and head home. Ianto sits in the back and leans his head back against the headrest and tries to ignore the awkward looks Mickey gives both of them when Jack asks him to drop them off at Ianto's flat from the driver's seat.

"You shouldn't have made Smith go back to the Hub alone," Ianto tells him dully, leaning against the wall inside his flat and watching Jack take off his coat and leather holster.

"Mickey can handle himself," Jack answers ambiguously, giving Ianto a look that suggest he's vaguely insulted on Mickey's behalf. "And don't give me some idiotic rule like: "All Torchwood personnel must wait eighteen months before being allowed to wander the Hub unsupervised."

He plops down at Ianto's pathetic excuse of a kitchen table and leans over to undo his laces. The fabric of his light blue shirt stretches with the motion, highlighting the strong curve of his back and the muscles in his arms. Ianto closes his eyes against the hot flash of _want_ that burns in his gut before clenching his teeth and willing the feeling away. It doesn't work, so he opens his eyes again and regards the cold emptiness of his kitchen; the spotless counters, the cabinets filled with hardly used dishes, the stark fake-linoleum floor, and the unvarnished heater near the table. Sometimes Ianto feels like this flat is a microcosm of his life thus far; unfeeling and hollow. And there is Jack at the center of it all- because he _always_ has to be at the center of it all-a bright, warm, ball of energy, of chaos that messes everything up and repulses Ianto with the utter foreignness of him almost as much as it attracts him.

"I wasn't going to," Ianto replies hoarsely, staring uncomprehendingly at the neon blue numbers of the digital clock on his microwave.

He sees Jack kick off his shoes and turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he does not look away from the clock. Jack opens his mouth, stops, hesitates, and then-

"We should talk about this," he says firmly and Ianto glances at him to see the determined set of his jaw.

They really should. For so, _so_ many different reasons. But Ianto doesn't think he could stand to have a conversation about the mess that they've found themselves in now. He's worn out, humiliated, and every cell in his body itches to touch Jack. And everything is ruined already, he thinks desperately, everything is so completely fucked up, so why not?

"I don't want to talk," Ianto tells him, voice surprisingly steady and meets Jack's eyes for the first time in over an hour.

Jack just looks at him, confusion clouding over his handsome face.

"What-" he starts, but Ianto expects this and grabs his arm, yanking him up out of the chair and kisses him.

Jack makes a small sound of surprise, but doesn't protest, curling both hands around Ianto's face to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He's surprisingly gentle, but Ianto doesn't want gentle. He doesn't know what to do with gentle, not with Jack. Gentle means vulnerability and he's already shown Jack too much of that. What he wants is rough and fast, no talking, no affection. He just wants to fuck Jack hard enough that he'll forget this entire mess.

He has Jack against the table, sucking on his tongue and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Jack lets out a heady groan when Ianto pushes a knee in-between his thighs and throws his arm around around Ianto's back, propelling them backwards into the hallway and toward his bedroom, stumbling into walls like some cliché sex scene from a tacky Hollywood film. They fall onto Ianto's bed with difficulty, Jack growling in frustration as he struggles with Ianto's zipper, and Ianto shoves him down onto his back, kissing down his bare and quivering chest, and tries desperately to forget.

He wakes to sunlight streaming through his window, almost mockingly, with his back to Jack's hip, Jack's arm thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. His cheek pressed to the mattress instead of his pillow, Ianto observes the way Jack's hand lies half-suspended on the mattress, mere centimeters from his face. He simply watches it for a few seconds and then leans forward to brush the side of his nose lightly against the juncture between his pointer finger and thumb. Ianto closes his eyes and moves to rest his cheek against the back of Jack's hand for a few short moments before pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.

And then it's over. Ianto moves away, a cold, raw hurt spreading through his chest. He gently removes Jack's arm from his person and sits up, glancing down at Jack's sleeping form for a second before quickly looking away. He grabs his trousers off the floor, puts them on, and starts looking for his shirt.

"So that's how it is then?" Jack says suddenly and Ianto feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, not completely because he thought Jack was asleep.

He turns around slowly and crosses his arms uncomfortably over his scarred chest. "What?"

Jack sits up and looks at him with cold eyes. "You're just going to leave, like you always do," he says bitterly. "And what, pretend like it never happened?"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Ianto replies and turns away. He can't look at Jack right now, can't let himself falter. Because however much he _wants_ this, _wants_ Jack, he has to do this, he has to protect himself.

"Oh, I don't know why I'm even surprised," Jack snarls with a surprising amount of contempt, while Ianto locates his shirt and picks it up off the floor. "This is just so fucking typical. Because, of course, acting like an actual human being once and a while would be too much to as-"

Without thinking about it, Ianto spins around and throws the shirt back down on the floor angrily.

"You know, I don't understand you at all," he hisses furiously. "What do you _want_ with me?"

"Don't act like you don't-" Jack starts, but stops suddenly, looking puzzled. "What did you say? Why did you say that?"

"Say what?" Ianto snaps irritably.

"You said 'what do you want with me,'" Jack says carefully, like he's just realizing something. "Most people would say 'what do you want _from_ me.'"

"And_ how_ is this relevant?" Ianto says with a weary sigh.

Jack doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking contemplative and confused. Ianto opens his mouth to say something disparaging about the consequences of Jack actually using his brain, but Jack cuts him off before he can even begin.

"You don't say 'what do you want _with _me,'" Jack says slowly, sounding more like he's talking to himself rather than to Ianto. "You never say that. It's always '_from_ me.' Not unless...not unless you've been trapped, or someone's taken you prisoner, or you're-"

"If you try and psychoanalyze me, I _will_ punch you, Jack," Ianto tells him defensively, angry and self-conscious at Jack's tangent.

Because what he's saying hits just a little too close to home. Jack is showing far too much insight into the way Ianto thinks, how he is, and it's not right, it's too dangerous. He feels exposed and defenseless, alarm bells going off in his head, and a horrible sick feeling fermenting in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you feel trapped, Jones?" Jack asks him, titling his head to the side curiously, almost childlike. He shifts forward so that his chin rests on the back of his hands, arms supported by his knees and it takes every muscle in Ianto body to resist taking a nervous step back. Coupled with his words, it's like a mocking caricature of a psychologist, Ianto realizes, feeling sick.

"You don't..." Jack continues, and something must have shown on Ianto's face because now he's suddenly looking worried. "I haven't...You do know this isn't part of your job, don't you?"

Ianto lets out a derisive noise, but his heart isn't in it and Jack doesn't look convinced.

"Don't be thick," Ianto tells him, struck at the absurdity of reassuring Captain Jack Harkness that he's not taking advantage of him after last night.

"Because you're not, you know, trapped," Jack says seriously, and God, Ianto wishes he would just _stop talking_ for once in his very long life. "Jones, I don't I _have yo_-"

"No, you do have me," Ianto cuts him off furiously, finally at his breaking point. "You've had me for years now. Christ," he laughs, a sad, ironic, weary sound, "you...you've had me from the beginning."

"Jones..." Jack starts, frowning, and Ianto sees something horribly like pity in his eyes and has to turn away in disgust.

"Shut up, Jack," Ianto says coldly, exiting the room.

"Ianto," Jack says quietly and Ianto stops dead in the doorway, hand coming out to steady himself on the door frame, feeling like he's been punched in the gut.

His name. Jack knows his _name_.

"What part of 'I can't do this' do you not understand?" Ianto chokes, digging his short nails into the door frame in an effort to stay standing while his knees buckle dangerously.

"Then _explain_ it," Jack replies softly, tactfully not bringing up the fact that just hours ago Ianto had practically thrown him into bed.

Ianto shudders and closes his eyes in concentration. He has to do this, he tells himself, he has to finish it and he needs the right words.

"I tried..." he starts haltingly. "I tried to be...but I never could do the casual thing. It's just not how I am."

"Who said it was casual?" Jack says unexpectedly and Ianto feels a flash of anger at his words.

"Why do you have to do that?" Ianto snarls, turning to face him again and stiffening up even more.

Jack crosses his arms over his bare chest-Ianto wishes he'd put some clothes on-and raises a quizzical brow. "Do what?"

"You know what I mean," Ianto bites out. "Be...difficult. This isn't a joke!"

"Do you see me laughing?" Jack says unimpressively, getting out of bed. Ianto automatically averts his eyes and Jack lets out a derisive snort.

"Oh, _no_, sir," Ianto says, sarcasm dripping off his every word, focusing on a pile of loose change on his dresser instead of looking at Jack. "Of course not. No one could ever accuse you of acting frivolously."

"Actin-Do you even _listen_ to yourself?" Jack splutters.

Ianto rolls his eyes and pointedly refuses to look at the other man until he reluctantly puts on his trousers.

"This," Ianto says as calmly as possible, buttoning up his shirt, "is pointless. And I can't do it anymore. That's all there is to it."

"Well, I'm glad everything is so clear to you, Ianto," Jack retorts, using Ianto's Christian name like a weapon, and by the visceral reaction Ianto keeps having in response, it might as well be. "But for the rest of us not gifted with psychic access to your brai-"

"You want a explanation," Ianto interrupts, at his last nerve. "Fine. For whatever madreason I love you. I didn't think it was possible, after Lisa, that I could-And I can't do anything about it, _believe me_, I've tried. My problem, you see, whether you believe this or not, is that I...I feel too _much_. And it gets me in trouble. You make me want to be bette...you make me want things I can't have. I don't know what you want wit-from-_with_ me," he stutters before clenching his teeth for a second and continuing steadily. "But I can't do it anymore. I'm just not built for this."

There is a long silence while Jack just stares at him, as if he's never seen anything like him in his very long life. Ianto feels his face heat up with shame, but he holds his ground, refusing to back down. He'll save the abject humiliation for after Jack has gone, but right now he needs to be strong enough to do what has to be done and see this through to the end.

"You know," Jack says finally, breaking the horrible silence. "You're kind of an idiot."

Of all the things Ianto expected Jack to say, this was not one of them. "What?"

"Do you honestly think this is a cakewalk for me either?" Jack demands inanely.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you think," Ianto replies icily.

"Oh, sure," Jack scoffs, grabbing at his white undershirt now. "Don't give me that. You just _assume_ that this is all a game to me."

"Isn't it?" Ianto blurts out before he can stop himself and Jack's eyes darken substantially.

"What must you think of me?" Jack says darkly, in what is probably a rhetorical question.

"I've already had the humiliating experience of telling you what I think of you," Ianto sighs, turning away, but there's something fluttering in his chest at Jack's words, something painful and poignant that he tries ruthlessly to suppress, because it _can't be_, Jack wouldn't ever...he's _lying_ or having him on, because there's no way in a million years that he could mean what Ianto thinks he means...

Jack grabs his wrist to stop him from leaving the room and Ianto's breath catches in his throat.

This is insane and impossible and Ianto can't be here right now. He has to think about this, has to take time and think this through because otherwise...otherwise...

He doesn't resist when Jack pulls him back, reaching out gently with one arm. But he closes his eyes when Jack's fingertips make contact with the side of his face, because wanting something doesn't necessarily mean you're ready to get it.

"Have you_ really_ not figured it out yet?" Jack says softly and Ianto's eyes snap open to stare at him.

"Wha-What?" Ianto says again, and then, with more strength. "Don't _play_ with me, Jack."

Jack doesn't respond, instead leans in to press a light kiss to his jaw, then his neck, and Ianto _hates _him. Hates that he can't just say what he means, because apparently that's too much of a primitive 21st century concept for the great Captain Jack Harkness.

Jack's other hand comes up to grasp his shoulder and he kisses his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth and Ianto' eyes flutter shut of their own volition, breath coming out in short puffs. It's the most affectionate they've been with each other and it makes Ianto's insides crawl to think that Jack doesn't _mean_ this, that this is all some cheap ploy to get him to let his defenses down, because even Jack _can't _be as stupid as to think that he can _show_ Ianto what he feel...

"Oh," Ianto says softly, more to himself than anything as Jack mouths the underside of his jaw. "_Oh_."

Jack pulls back to look at him, eyes dark with desire, intent, and something_ else_ that makes Ianto shiver under his gaze.

"Er..." Ianto says, edging backwards. "That's, well, I had better, I mean," he stutters, feeling his face heat up to a truly ridiculous degree. "I should-Maybe, I should-"

He has to get out of here, wrap his head around this new development properly, make an informed, coherent, reasonable decision, because he's never been the type of person to just impulsively throw himself into a-

"Ianto," Jack says with a bit of an amused grin, hands coming down to lightly rest on his waist, thumbs making soothing circular motions above his hipbones. "Don't."

Ianto swallows back the lump in his throat and fights his body's urge to shake violently. He knows he must look ridiculous, eyes wide with an innocence that he no longer possesses, but he can't help stare incredulously right into Jack's eyes.

"I-" he starts quickly, but then falters, glancing down distractedly at Jack's hands on his sides. "Er...That is-I'm not sure what to-"

Jack kisses him then, just lightly on the mouth, and Ianto's eyelids flutter shut automatically. He hesitates just briefly, but then twists his head to the side to deepen the kiss, bringing his hands up to grip Jack's shoulders tightly.

_"Oh,"_ Ianto thinks dazedly as Jack's fingers clench his hair. "Oh, _fuck, I-"_

He pushes up the undershirt that he had watched Jack pull on only minutes ago and clutches Jack back as if his life depends on it. Because if he doesn't kiss him and _keep _kissing him he's going to cry and this is much more pleasant anyway. He's still a bit sore and bruised from last night, but it doesn't matter a bit because it's Jack and he _needs_ this, needs to touch him or he thinks he might explode.

"Wa-Wait!" Jack says, tearing his mouth from Ianto's after several long moments that are still somehow _not enough_. "I have to-" He cuts himself off and presses a quick, fast kiss to Ianto's cheek, and then to the corner of his eye.

"I have to tell you something," Jack finishes breathlessly.

"_Now_?" Ianto demands in disbelief. "Really? Right this instant?"

"_Yes,_ now," Jack says insistently, smoothing down the sleeves of Ianto's dress shirt and playing with the cuffs. Ianto leans into his touch, trying to capture his mouth again and get it doing far more interesting things than talking, but Jack twists away. Ianto narrows his eyes.

"It's," Jack says, talking a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a speech, and there is no _fucking_ way that's going to do. "It's about the year I was g-"

Rolling his eyes, Ianto pulls Jack to him by the waist and goes for his fly.

"Guh...ugh, okay, that's," Jack says in surprise, raw red mouth falling open to gasp for air. "Mmmm, ah, fine I'll-we'll-shit, _Ianto_!"

* * *

><p>Jack Harkness dozes for what seems like only a few minutes, but he's surprised to find it's nearly noon by the time he gets around to opening his eyes. One of Ianto's arms is flung haphazardly across his chest, and Jack glances to the side and, just for a moment, watches the other man breathe. Ianto's head is only halfway on the pillow, cheek scrunched against the sheets in a way that Jack finds strangely endearing.<p>

This may be completely insane and a really bad idea, but Jack's wanted this for so long now that he can't find it in himself to care.

Almost as if able to tell that he's watching, Ianto's eyes open, and he blinks several times before focusing on Jack. Immediately, he stiffens and lifts his arm quickly off Jack's chest, pulling it back.

"Hey," Jack says, grabbing his forearm before he can disengage completely and raising a questioning eyebrow. "Relax."

Ianto appears to be confused for a moment and Jack bends down to press a light kiss to the side of his wrist, not taking his eyes off Ianto's even for a second.

"Oh," Ianto murmurs, and the _look_ he sends him between his eyelashes makes Jack's heart skip a beat.

Embarrassedly, Ianto let his arm fall back down to Jack's chest and glances away, cheeks reddening. Jack would be amused if he didn't know exactly how much it costs for Ianto to be able to do this, so he doesn't comment, but instead reaches over to slide his hand through Ianto's hair and kiss his temple.

Ianto's face softens to the point where he actually looks his age and Jack smooths down the side of his face and says. "I need to tell you something."

Ianto blinks, immediately awake.

"About what?" he asks warily.

"About the year I was gone."

Ianto tilts his head to the side in a way Jack would find appealing if he wasn't too busy focusing on the horrible writhing sensation in his stomach as he steels himself for what he is about to say.

"Year...?" Ianto says slowly, sitting up and taking the covers with him. "You were gone four months."

"No," Jack says, closing his eyes tiredly. "I was gone a year."

He doesn't explain all the details, just enough for Ianto to get a picture of the hellscape the planet Earth had become. Jack doesn't even mention the torture, because Ianto already figured that out on his own anyway. And even then it's hard at some parts, hard to talk about it and not go back to that horrible year of smoke and chains and boiling heat and death.

Ianto takes it pretty well, it seems, not that Jack was expecting him to freak out. He finds the idea of an alternate universe more disconcerting than anything, but still manages to seem a bit embarrassed when Jack mentions the kiss.

"So..." Ianto says finally, curled up slightly on the mattress now, head pillowed by his upper arm in a shockingly casual position . "So, you've known," he says hesitantly. "You've known how I...for more than two years?"

"No," Jack tells him quickly. "No, I didn't, I...had no idea actually," he finishes awkwardly and promptly wonders why he is such an enormous idiot.

Ianto frowns. "But when you came back...that was the only time you saw him-me, right? So when you came back you must have realized that even before you left I..."

"You were really different," Jack admits as delicately as possible. "More...relaxed. Guess that's what the apocalypse does to a man. "

But even now as he says it he realizes that the Ianto looking at him through lidded eyes lying next to him is a far cry from the uptight Agent Jones he's used to.

"And the Master," Ianto says slowly and even as Jack tries to stop himself he can't help but tense up, "...he's dead?"

"His wife shot him," Jack says with an unamused snort, crossing his arms under his head and staring at the ceiling. "Surprise, surprise."

Ianto doesn't say anything for a while and then he rises from the mattress and leans forward boldly to kiss Jack on the mouth. Jack groans into it, fisting Ianto's short hair and pulling him closer because while he spent a year and a half messing around with Ianto Jones, Ianto has never before instigated anything between them. At the time, Jack had though he merely preferred to let Jack take the lead, but now he realizes that perhaps Ianto was too wary or even shy.

Jack breaks the kiss and moves down to nuzzle at his neck, sucking a red mark just to the left of his Adam's apple while Ianto lets out a broken groan of: "Ja-aaaaack," and straddles Jack's hips properly.

"So," Jack says conversationally, cupping his hands around Ianto's bare waist and grinning at the look on plain lust on his face. "What do you want?"

Ianto leans down slowly and pins both of Jack's shoulders to the bed. His grip is firm on the juncture between Jack's upper arm and chest, and Jack's breath hitches audibly.

"Well..." Ianto says deliberately, turning his head to the side to breathe into Jack ear, grip deliciously tight. Jack's eyes flutter shut and a soft "ah" escapes his mouth in anticipation. "You could-"

His phone goes off.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Jack says incredulously, eyes snapping open.

Ianto's grits his teeth in frustration, but he sits up and tosses the phone to him without comment.

"Yes, Mickey," Jack says sharply after glancing at the caller ID and trying very hard to sound professional and not like he was just trying to have an orgasm.

"Rift activity near Cardiff Castle," Mickey says. "CCTV cameras in the area show a couple Weevils."

"Of course," Jack says sarcastically, trying to think of Weevils and not Ianto's warm body in the bed next to him. "Why not?"

"I've already called Gwen to take over at the Hub," Mickey says, ignoring Jack's comment. "And despite my _deepest_ objections Martha has checked out of the hospital and is insisting that she-"

"-for the hundredth time, I'm _fine_!" Martha's voice comes faintly, sounding deeply exasperated. "And I'm coming, Mickey, don't you dare try and stop me."

"Best just not to argue with her," Jack advises in amusement.

"You've got _no_ idea, mate" Mickey mutters, confirming Jack's suspicions of the nature of his and Martha's relationship outside of work.

"Anyway," Mickey continues. "I've got all the staff and tourists evacuated, spread some story about a gas leak, but we'd better get there quick." There is a brief pause. "Jones is with you, yeah?"

"Yes," Jack says, glancing over at Ianto quickly. "Yes, he is."

"Well, good," Mickey mumbles, sounding embarrassed. "I'll meet you at the entrance, then?"

"Right," Jack replies and hangs up.

"What is it?" Ianto asks.

"Weevils in Cardiff Castle," Jack tells him and starts looking around for his trousers.

"Oh, _naturally_," Ianto says and rolls his eyes.

Five hours later, Jack, Ianto, Mickey, and Martha return to the Hub wearily with four Weevils in tow.

"If I never see another of those stupid narrow winding staircases again it'll be too soon," Mickey groans, flopping down onto his computer chair as soon as they get the Weevils into the cells.

"I dunno," Jack says contemplatively, "seems like it could be a good place for a quick sh-"

"Yeah, brilliant!" Gwen says quickly. "Did you have to retcon anyone?"

"Just a groundskeeper," Martha tells her. "Which reminds me, Jack, do you know if there's any data on how retcon interacts with heart medicine?"

"Owen might've kept some notes on it," Jack says and throws a longing glance at Ianto as he types his report into the computer.

"Oh, I talked to Andy a bit, too," Gwen tells him. "He's a little out of it, but the doctors said that he can check out tomorrow afternoon."

"Good," Jack nods, drumming his fingers anxiously on the railing that surrounds the first level.

"Harkness," Ianto calls from across the room, holding up the phone. "There's message for you from Frobisher."

Jack grins. "Aha, admitting defeat, no doubt."

He strides across the room and takes the phone from Ianto, taking care to brush his fingers ever so slightly over Ianto's.

Ianto raises an eyebrow.

"Well, c'mon now, Jones," Jack says a tad flirtatiously. "Back to work."

Ianto gives him an amused look and, no doubt noticing the forlorn glances Mickey and Martha keep sending the empty coffee pot, heads over to the machine. Jack watches him interestedly as he goes and only then raises the phone to his ear.

One highly satisfying phone message and a pile of filed paperwork later, Martha, Mickey, and Gwen trickle out of the Hub, refusing to stay as Jack had technically given them the entire day off the night before.

Ianto shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, obviously unsure if he should leave or stay until Jack finishes up making the obligatory idle notes on the day's events and throws in the towel. He exits his office and leans over the second level railing, looking down at Ianto as he halfheartedly rearranges some papers.

"So..." Jack breaks the silence, strangely nervous. "I was thinking ... maybe we could, you know... dinner? A movie?"

Ianto abandons his organization to glance up at him and blinks.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" he asks, expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Interested?" Jack asks quickly, going for coy to cover up the fact that he actually has quite a lot invested in Ianto's answer.

Ianto appears to consider it for a few seconds and lets out a quiet breath of laughter.

"Alright, Jack," he says easily, and his lips curve upward in the same soft, secret smile the man on the Valiant had given him so many years ago.

* * *

><p>To say that the last few months of Lois Habiba's life were eventful would possibly be one of the largest understatements of the century.<p>

Just in July, she was the new junior PA to the Permanent Secretary of the Home Office. It was a great job for someone right out of college, and though it was a bit dull and insipid, it was better than working at a greengrocers. The pay was decent, even if her supervisor and colleagues were rude and dismissive, but she kept her head down and did her job for the first three months mostly without complaint. Lois had always been a sensible woman, and she knew better than to hope for things that would just end up in disappointment. She knew her own skills, knew that she wasn't particularly clever or talented. She was just average, and she knew that it was best to strive for average accomplishments. There was a reason she choose to get her degree in Office Management rather than something more lofty or prestigious, and she wouldn't regret her choice just because of her first job out of college.

But then, in her fourth month of working at the Home Office, everything changed.

It wasn't as if she has done anything differently than usual. She got up, got coffee, took the tube to work, and picked up the phone. That's all she did, she picked up the phone.

And on the other end of the line was Captain Jack Harkness.

To tell the truth, Lois doesn't really remember much of their conversation. She remembers being confused as to what he wanted at first, confused as to why he wasn't immediately asking to speak to Mr. Frobisher. He just sort of talked a lot, mentioned something called "Torchwood," and asked her to look up a bunch of stuff on her computer, favors, her called them. It wasn't until the subtle flattery started that she realized what was going on. Feeling rather vindictive, she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she would not give him any information and hung up. Lois actually remembers feeling slightly proud for the rest of the day, useful and responsible, because she did know Ms. Spears' password and she technically could have given him the documents he'd wanted.

"What's Torchwood?" she asked Ms. Spears later that day right before her lunch break. "Is it like some sort of NGO?"

Ms. Spears almost dropped her cup of tea straight into her lap. "Where did you hear that name?" she demanded.

"Er, there was this phone call-" Lois started, but Ms. Spears cut her off with an irritated click of her tongue.

"Listen, Lois," Ms. Spears scolded. "Your job is to file things, and assistant myself and Mr. Frobisher. You transfer phone calls, not overhear them, do you understand me?"

"Sorry," Lois said instead of doing the right thing and telling her about Captain Harkness' questions. She kept that part to herself.

She ended up being in a bad mood the entire day, angry at the way Ms. Spears continued to treat her, angry at everyone assuming that she was a complete idiot. She spent the entire night being irritated and insulted and after an hour long rant to her best mate over the phone, Lois decided that the next day she would figure out what Torchwood was all on her own.

She was completely unprepared for the mess this would cause. Even in the worst case scenario, she just would've assumed that Torchwood was some fringe NGO with vague anti-government sentiments. She never dreamed it had something to do with _aliens_ and that it was in actuality part of the British government.

Maybe it was only because her job was so mind-numblingly dull, but Lois became obsessed. Every chance she got, she'd log into her computer using Ms. Spears' password and look up more information about the mysterious organization. Over the next few weeks Lois sifted through all the information the Home Office had. It wasn't much, the Home Office knew relatively nothing about the inner workings of Torchwood's operation besides a couple employees and their leader Captain Jack Harkness, who they had information on that dated back to the _1950s _and is categorized as _immortal_, which hardly seemed possible. But they had collected a list of events that Torchwood had been involved in, and it was, well, it was _mad_. They were practically _heroes_, stopping alien invasions, saving the world. News stories about weird occurrences in Wales and all over the UK suddenly started to become connected and make sense. Lois felt like she was seeing the world with new eyes.

And then came the files from Frobisher's own office, files detailing the planned infiltration and eventual takeover of the institution.

For almost three weeks, Lois agonized over what to do. She couldn't ask anyone, not her parents or her friend for advice, because she know they'd be horrified that she was even considering breaking the Official Secrets Act.

But the use of lethal force was an option in Mr. Frobisher's plan to take control of Torchwood and Lois didn't sign the Official Secrets Act to sanction murder in political squabbles. And even if she did, these people: Jack Harkness, Gwen Copper, Mickey Smith, Ianto Jones, Andy Davidson, and Martha Jones, they're all that stands in the way of _aliens invading the planet_. Just six people against the whole of the universe, and now, the Home Office as well.

So while it was probably the stupidest thing she had done in her short twenty-two years, much stupider than nicking the answers to her Chemistry exam when she was fifteen, Lois Habiba called Jack Harkness.

And when she put down the phone, she was a spy.

It's a lot more glamorous than it sounds. All she basically did was go over the same documents she read before and make notes in a small notebook in shorthand that she kept in the same compartment of her bag where she stored her tampons. (She figured it was the least likely place the guards at the front door would want to look.) The most risky thing she did was put on a pair of contacts with video cameras in them and watched a couple meetings Mr. Frobisher had with various other highly-ranked officials in the government through his office window.

Still, at times it became too much. The first few days Lois had to run to the bathroom to be sick no less than fourteen times and even out in the street she felt like every random passerby was watching her, waiting for her to screw up, not to mention how bad it was inside the office. But she forced herself to do it, even at night when she woke up convinced that at any second the police were going to break down her door and throw her in prison for the rest of her life without a trial. There were peoples' lives at stakes here, she forced herself to remember, good peoples' lives. Though she'd only talked to him over the phone (having received the contacts in the mail) she sort of began to like Captain Jack Harkness, despite his flirtatious manner. So she did what she had to do, even though she didn't really understand how Captain Harkness thought that mere information could help Torchwood survive.

"But how are you going to stop them?" Lois asked him once. "I mean, there're only six of you."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," he laughed in response. "Someone reminded me that I have friends in other high places besides the Home Office. I just need to know what I'm dealing with before they can help stop this. Which is where you come in."

Lois blushed in pleasure.

It went on until right before Christmas, when Lois was finally caught. Even now she's not entirely sure what she did to set them off, but quite placidly, Lois was escorted from her desk to a car with darkened windows that took her to a sterile white cell in a UNIT holding facility.  
>Her rights as a citizen were withdrawn. She would be held there indefinitely. They were not required to provide her with legal representation. She would not be allowed communication with any person or organization outside the facility. There was no right of appeal.<p>

Lois spent a week there before Captain Jack Harkness came to get her.

"I had to put up quite a fight to get you out of there," he told her in the first time they meet face-to-face. "Luckily UNIT still owes me a few favors, though I expect they're probably sick of me stealing all their best prisoners."

"Where are you taking me?" she asked dully, voice hoarse from not speaking as he led her out the door of the holding facility to a black SUV with the word "Torchwood" emblazoned on the side.

He grinned a startlingly attractive grin at her and said. "Lois Habiba, would you like a job?'

And that was how Lois started working at Torchwood.

She pretty much does the same things she did at the Home Office, file stuff, answer phone calls and bring them all coffee and clean up after them. According to Captain Harkness they all did that sort of thing before she came (meaning Mr. Jones did it all himself.)

Though the move was sudden, and she couldn't tell her parents or friends why she had to move out to Cardiff with basically no notice, Lois finds she enjoys working at Torchwood. Even though she's younger than the rest of them, none of them treat her with the disrespect she became accustomed to working at the Home Office. In fact, many of her new colleagues are in awe of her so-called bravery in thwarting Frobisher's "evil plot to destroy us all."

Gwen and Martha like having another woman around and welcome her into the fold almost immediately, even though Gwen's second-in-command and Martha's the team medic. Captain Harkness is brave and witty, and Mickey is patient and understanding when he shows her how to use the computer. Lois is still rather terrified of Mr. Jones, half of whose job she more or less took over, but out of all of them she likes Andy best. Andy's pretty new to the whole alien thing as well, and he only works part time, the other part of his job being a Sergeant of the local police (whom he sort of spies on as well.) He understands what it's like to be her more than the rest of them with their guns or their jokes in the face of danger or time-traveling pasts.

There's so many things that take getting used to, her new flat, the Cardiff weather, the technology inside the Hub, the weird reports she has to type up and aliens to classify, the fact their office is _underground the __Roald Dahl Plass_, but the thing she has the most difficulty getting over is how unprofessional they all are in the office. Mickey, Captain Harkness, and even Gwen and Andy regularly play increasingly juvenile pranks on each other. Captain Harkness makes so many inappropriate remarks to all his employees that an entire rainforest wouldn't be enough to cover all the harassment forms. Gwen seems to have no problem telling her civilian husband about all the intricacies of her job and, Mickey and Martha appear to be in an a serious inter-office relationship, from the rather long kiss they shared at the New Years' Party just a week and a half after Lois started. Andy has no problem making all sorts of insubordinate remarks to Captain Harkness and about a month after she stared working at Torchwood he even claimed that Captain Harkness and Mr. Jones were _involved_. At the time, Lois had laughed it off, thinking that there was no way that the professional and efficient Mr. Jones would start something with his boss.

And that's not even counting the Board. According to Gwen, the Board used to be used for important things like mapping out parallels between alleged alien attacks or doing equations, but now the Board is used to keep track of the score in some kind of contest between Mickey and Mr. Jones involving the mad stunts they pull off in the field. On one side of the Board there are the words "The Preachers" written in blue marker, apparently the name of the group Mickey used to be a part of in his adventures in an alternate universe. Under it is written "CYBERMEN BEWARE!" To represent Mr. Jones, "Torchwood One" is written in red on the other side of the Board, complete with the caption "aka psychotic, trigger-happy meddlers." Under that, "OF DOOM" is scrawled in a hand that looks suspiciously like Andy's.

As far as Lois can tell, you gain points by doing something extremely dangerous and clever that works in the field and you lose points when it doesn't or you get injured. Mr. Jones and Mickey are usually head to head, but Mr. Jones gains and loses points at a much faster rate. It's mostly Gwen, Mickey, and Andy who are involved in the arbitration over points to be awarded as Mr. Jones is much too professional to be involved in such childish games. (Or he at least pretends to be. Lois _has_ seen him glance at the Board speculatively every once and a while.) They argue over technique and strategy, Gwen taking it upon herself to be Mr. Jones's advocate with a surprising amount of dedication. Gwen and Mr. Jones have a strange friendship like that. Martha disapproves in a halfhearted sort of way and Captain Harkness seems to find the entire setup hilarious, slapping Mr. Jones companionably on the back in congratulations whenever he's takes the lead, which leads Andy to wiggle his eyebrows knowingly at her in at an attempt to be suggestive that makes her cringe every time at the absurdity of it all.

It's only after the birth of Gwen's daughter Anwen when they're all sitting at a restaurant in town, celebrating Gwen and Rhys' parenthood and Gwen's subsequent return to work that Lois discovers that Andy may have not been joking about Mr. Jones' and Captain Harkness' relationship after all. It happens after Rhys tells a funny story about a lorry delivery going ridiculously wrong, and Lois laughs so hard her lipstick falls out of her purse and under the table. She gets out of her chair and is crouching down to get it when she looks slightly up to see Captain Harkness' hand on Mr. Jones' thigh. For a second, she just stares at his hand, unsure as to what she's seeing. Then, blushing horribly, she grabs her lipstick and bangs her head on the underside of the table in her haste to stand up.

"Sorry," she says quickly, going even more red.

"Easy there, Lois," Gwen laughs. "We 'aven't even started drinking yet and you're already under the table."

"Just-uh-dropped my lipstick," Lois explains in embarrassment, trying not to stare at Captain Harkness and Mr. Jones.

"Well, we might as well start drinking if we're going to be stumbling about," Captain Harkness reasons with a dashing smile. "I propose a toast."

"Oh, _no_," Mr. Jones, Gwen, and Mickey all groan at the same time.

"Shut it you," Captain Harkness says, raising his glass, and if Lois' is not mistaken, she's pretty sure the angle of his other arm has moved is now around Mr. Jones' waist. "To Anwen Williams, may you have the looks of your mother and the intelligence of your fa-oh, wait, that better be the mother, too."

"Oi," Rhys protests. "Shut it, you bast-"

"Alright, alright," Gwen says, holding her hands up. "Shut up the pair of you."

Rhys and Captain Harkness pay her no heed and only the drinks arriving stops them from having a proper row.

But even though she knows she shouldn't, Lois can't help notice that Captain Harkness' hand stays on Mr. Jones' waist throughout the rest of the night.

She waits for the opportune moment for most of the next day, until finally Mr. Jones goes down into the archives for something and Captain Harkness is holed up safely in his office.

"This might be overstepping my bounds," she starts carefully. "But I was just wondering, are Captain Harkness and Mr. Jones...you know..."

There's a brief pause where they look a bit confused and then immediately look extremely awkward.

"Er, yeah," Martha says finally, taking pity on her and breaking the strained silence. "I mean, we're pretty sure..."

"You didn't _believe_ me?" Andy says, looking slightly insulted.

"I kind of thought you were joking," Lois admits sheepishly.

"Why do you want to know?" Mickey asks gruffly, looking supremely uncomfortable with the current topic of conversation.

"I was just curious," Lois says self-consciously, inwardly reminding herself that there is a _reason_ she got locked in a UNIT cell for seven days and that maybe she should try and learn from that experience.

"Well, yeah, they've been..." Gwen tells her, shrugging her shoulders helplessly, "...for...huh, how long has it been now?" She cocks her head to the side, thinking. "Around two years, I reckon. Though I shouldn't count the couple months they weren't speaking to each other. "

"What ever happened with that?" Andy asks curiously, swiveling around in his chair to look at Gwen. "I mean, even _I_ noticed that they weren't getting on for a while there."

"I suppose they must've, you know, made up," Gwen says awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.

"But, two years?" Martha says incredulously. "I-I didn't know it was that long."

"Yeah, we started to notice it right before, well, right before Owen and Tosh died."

Grief clouds Gwen's face for a few seconds, and Lois' eyes drop to the floor, unsure what emotions she should project in the face of the deaths of former Torchwood Agents that she never met.

"But, yeah, they're just kind of...them," Gwen sums it up with a vague wave of her hand. "Neither Jack nor Jones really talk about it, so...neither do we. It's just there, in the background." Gwen frowns. "It's not really any of our business, you know?"

"Oh, yes," Lois says quickly, eager to agree with her, holding up her hands defensively. "I was just wondering."

"But two _years_," Mickey says, dropping his uninterested act. "And he barely sleeps at the Hub nowadays. For someone like Jack that's seems pretty series, innit?"

"What do you mean "someone like Jack,"" Gwen asks defensively.

"Oh, come off it, you know what I mean," Mickey says, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I do, but that doesn't mean that you should just make assumptions about-"

"Lay off, Gwen, he didn't mean anything by it," Andy interjects.

"I know," Gwen says crossly to Mickey. "But I don't think you should say things like th-"

"Calm down, kids," Captain Harkness says and they all jump when they realize that he's come out of his office and it leaning against the wall on the second floor watching them. "What's going on?"

There is a long silence in which everyone but Captain Harkness tries to ascertain how much of their conversation he heard.

"It's nothing," Martha finally says, pasting on a fake smile with alarming alacrity. "Nothing important, I mean."

Captain Harkness raises a disbelieving eyebrow, but doesn't question her further.

"Have you seen Jones?" he asks instead, crossing his arms across his chest. "I have a question about his ridiculously vague report on those Autons we ran into the other day."

Andy lets out a short cough.

"I think he's in the archives," Lois offers up helpfully and prays that Andy can control himself and keep a straight face. "I can go get him if you like."

"That would be great," Captain Harkness beams at her, and Lois hastily retreats before her cheeks flare red and give her away.

"Errr...hi," Lois says when she finds Mr. Jones looking through a large stack of files down in the archives. She avoids saying his name because he gets annoyed when she calls him "Mr. Jones" to his face, but she still isn't comfortable enough with him to merely call him "Jones" like the rest of them. It just seems too informal. "Captain Harkness wants you."

The innuendo of the phrase only comes to her a few seconds later, and she blushes in mortification, but Mr. Jones doesn't seem to notice.

"Did he say why?" Mr. Jones asks, turning to look at her and putting down his papers.

"Something about your Auton report, I think."

Mr. Jones rolls his eyes exasperatedly, but stuffs the papers back into their file in the filing cabinet and heads for the exit.

Lois thinks she hears him mutter "Bloody Harkness," under his breath as he goes.

Later, Andy calls about some suspicious sightings in Cathays and the rest of the team piles into the SUV that Lois had stocked up just a couple of hours ago. Lois likes it when they leave her alone in the Hub (though not for too long) and quickly busies herself sorting out the new shipments of medical supplies and ammunition. She feels useful, important, and even irreplaceable when she's alone in the Hub, which is something she never dreamed of when she was in college. Even if she only cleans, files things, packs the SUV, and restocks supplies, she's still a quite necessary part of the team that protects the human race from alien threats. Lois was worried, panicked almost, in the beginning that she wouldn't be able to adjust to life working for Torchwood. That being restricted from where she can go because of her actions (_treason, _the nasty voice in her head whispers) would suffocate her. But she finds she likes her colleagues and her boss (who still has yet to stop singing her praises for her work at the Home Office, to her utter embarrassment and secret pleasure), almost to the point where she's beginning to think of them as friends.

But just because she likes her job more than she ever thought was possible, it doesn't mean that there aren't drawbacks. And she's not talking about the distance from home or the Cardiff weather. More like the dangers that come with fending off hostile aliens.

"Lois!" Martha's voice comes frantically over the comm right as she's about to feed the pterodactyl. "Lois, I need you to open the garage door and turn on the lights in the medical bay."

"What happened?" Lois asks fearfully, running to open the door that separates the garage and the rest of the Hub.

"It's Jack, he's just a bit sick," Martha replies, sounding rather out of breath. "Don't worry, he'll be fine, I just need to do a few tes-look, Lois, we'll be there in a minute, just hold tight."

True to Martha's word, the SUV pulls into the underground garage after only a few minutes and Lois peeks nervously out of the door.

"Is he alright?" she asks in shock as Mr. Jones and Mickey half-carry Captain Harkness out the car.

"M'fine," Jack mumbles and then lets out a series of hacking coughs. Lois steps aside as Mickey and Mr. Jones lead Captain Harkness through the door and take him down into the medical bay.

"Jus' tired, really," Captain Harkness tries again, but Martha pays him no heed and pushes him back onto the autopsy table.

"Oh, _really_," Mr. Jones says furiously. "Yes, you're _brilliant_, Harkness, let's just touch the ominous, glowing piece of alien technology, clearly nothing could go wrong with _that_ plan."

"It was my fault," Gwen says miserably from the sidelines. "I shouldn't have let him touch it. Christ, my first day back and already I've-"

"It's hardly your fault that he's a grade-A idiot," Mr. Jones says icily and Lois has never seen him so angry before.

"Bugger off, Ianto," Captain Harkness mutters as Martha strips him of his shirt, and Lois is confused for a second until she realizes that Ianto must be Mr. Jones' first name. She's not sure if it suits him.

"And, Martha Jones," he continues with a wearily grin. "You only had to ask if you wanted to take my clothes off-"

"Alright, that's enough," Mickey scowls. "If he can make stupid jokes, he's probably fine, Martha."

"Just let me check a few thin-" Martha says, getting out her stethoscope, but Jack puts his hand on her arm reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Martha," he tells her earnestly. "Really."

He manages to sit up alright, but then nearly falls off the table and Mr. Jones has to grab hold of him to steady him.

"Riiiight," Andy says with a raised eyebrow. "You're in _great_ shape."

"Did you all use to be this insubordinate?" Captain Harkness mutters rhetorically, trying to stand shakily. "Now let me go, Jones, I'm fin-"

"Sit. Down." Mr. Jones says dangerously, and Captain Harkness lets out an annoyed puff of air, but ultimately complies.

Martha does a few tests, but Captain Harkness appears to be improving quickly, so she ends up stopping halfway through most of them.

"Do try to be more careful, though, Jack," she tells him. "You really should have known better than to touch that tech."

"I know, I know," Captain Harkness waves her off. "I will, I promise."

Mr. Jones lets out an incredulous snort. Captain Harkness ignores him.

"We'd better get that stuff out of the SUV, then?" Mickey says.

Captain Harkness glares at him. "Is messing around with that new technology all you care about? Your dashing leader has been injured and-"

"You lot go ahead and do that," Mr. Jones says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Captain Harkness.

"Maybe we shou-" Gwen starts.

"_Now_ would be best," Mr. Jones says cuttingly.

Gwen looks skeptical, but relents. Mickey rolls his eyes as he and the rest head off to unload the SUV. Lois is a little hesitant because of how mad Mr. Jones looks, but she goes to do the routine scan for any sightings of Torchwood activity on the internet all the same.

"That," she hears Mr. Jones say from the med lab, "was _extremely_ stupid."

"Here we go again," Captain Harkness sighs.

"Just because you're immortal doesn't mean you should just _throw _yourself into danger without think-"

"Oh, stop _worrying_," Captain Harkness says, and she can't help herself, so Lois leans back in her chair a little to see him throw his hands up in annoyance, still sitting on the autopsy table. "I'm fine, Ianto. I came back, didn't I? I always come back."

"Can you _really_ say that for certain?" Mr. Jones persists, starting to pace furiously. "A piece of tech made you immortal, so it stands to reason that another piece of tech could kill you for goo-"

"The Tardis is _not_ just a piece of tech!" Captain Harkness interrupts hotly, but Mr. Jones pays him no heed.

"And even if it didn't kill you," Mr. Jones continues, "it could have been like that whole mess with Abaddon or last year with the phones where you out of commission for days. You have _responsibilities_, you can't just _leave_ us and-Mmph!"

Captain Harkness has pulled him down by the lapels of his vest and kissed him right on the mouth. Lois gapes, feeling her cheeks flush a deep red as Mr. Jones' hands come down to rest of Captain Harkness' shoulders, because it's just so _strange_ to see her colleagues in such an intimate position.

"I told you," Captain Harkness says when they break apart, leaning his forehead against Mr. Jones'. "You worry too much."

"Who said I was worried?" Mr. Jones retorts, almost sullenly, and Captain Harkness smiles and leans up to kiss him again."I'm very-Mmm-angry with you."

"I'm sure," Captain Harkness grins, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Mmh, yes, I'm, ah," Mr. Jones says, halfheartedly struggling as Captain Harkness turns to kiss his neck. "Jack, _not here_."

"Fine, fine, be cruel," Captain Harkness says melodramatically, letting go of Mr. Jones' waist and leaning back on the heels of his hands.

Mr. Jones immediately takes a step backwards and straightens his clothes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"If you're not going to play with me, does that mean I can leave?" he says unconcernedly, giving Mr. Jones a dirty grin. "Or maybe you should give me a more thorough check-up, Dr. Jon-"

"Dear God," Mr. Jones says, eyes rolling towards the heavens. "Do you ever stop?"

"Nope," Captain Harkness says cheerfully. "It's why you like me so much, Ianto, don't lie."

Mr. Jones lets out a grumble that is neither an acquiesce nor a protest and sensing the end to the conversation, Lois turns back to her monitor and tries to focus on the scan taking place.

"I think it's safe to say that's not at all why I like you," she manages to make out Mr. Jones muttering.

The tone of his voice is soft though, soft and _strange, _and she really should not be here right now, even just listening. It's too personal and a bit uncomfortable, hearing him talk like that, somehow even more uncomfortable than watching Captain Harkness kiss him.

"Why do you like me then?" Captain Harkness says, uncharacteristically serious.

"Oh, Jack," Mr. Jones sighs, and as Lois gets up to leave she sees Mr. Jones lean closer to Captain Harkness, fingers brushing against the side her boss' face. "It's clearly just the coat."

~End~

**A/N: So there it is, I'm all finished! I tried to tie up the loose ends in this chapter and I think I succeeded. I struggled with last POV a bit; it was hard to do an outsider's POV and get all the points I wanted to get across, but in the end I couldn't resist because it's Lois! Who's epic!**

**Anyway, I hope you liked the conclusion to To The Sticking Place and the story in general (which ended up being more than a 100k! How did that happen?) A big part of this story was written as a way for me to reconcile the events of Children of Earth. I loved it for having a fantastic plot and great character development, but obviously I was also devastated when Ianto died. So writing this made me feel better (and allowed me to change/make commentary on a few aspects of Torchwood I find just a bit ridiculous XD.) I started this in November and have written basically nothing else since then, so I have to say it's a bit of a relief that it's finished! And now I can look forward to Miracle Day!**

**A couple people have asked me if I'm going to write a sequel. Probably not, but I won't rule out a oneshot or two in the same universe. I already have some ideas that I might follow up on later, but I think an entire sequel would be a bit much. (Full disclosure: To The Sticking Place was initially supposed to be a oneshot. I think it's fair to say that I utterly FAIL at writing oneshots, so you never know.)**

**As ever, many thanks to my betas Sleeping Soundly, for beta-ing 50k overnight and still wanting more, and Resonance and d, for complaining about my commas enough until I actually decided to fix them. You guys rock!**

** Also, to everyone who's left really wonderful and heartfelt reviews: thanks so much!**

**If you have any comments, questions, or criticisms, please review!  
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